#i know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it could fix me

[mashbrainrot]

.

[novaursa]

Legacy (the march)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: cold winds

- Next part: of dragons and gods

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

You sat in the chamber Tywin had claimed for his private work, a large map of Westeros splayed across the heavy oak table before him. He stood with his hands braced on the table’s edge, his sharp gaze fixed on you where you sat in the high-backed chair across from him.

It was quiet for a moment—strained, calculating. The silence stretched just long enough to feel deliberate before Tywin Lannister finally spoke.

“Why were you gone so long?”

You lifted your gaze to meet his, your fingers gently pressing against the bandage still wrapped around your forearm where one of your worst cuts had festered. The pain was dull now, but the memory of it lingered, burned into your flesh. “I told you before,” you began carefully, “I needed to go to the High Heart.”

Tywin’s brow furrowed slightly, his skepticism evident. “The High Heart is a hill in the Riverlands. Nothing more. What held you there for so long?”

Your lips pressed into a thin line before you replied, your voice calm but steady. “My wounds turned. I was ill, Tywin. In and out of consciousness for days.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, and you could see the flicker of something—concern, frustration, maybe both—cross his face. “You allowed yourself to become vulnerable. That is not like you.”

You tilted your head slightly, your tone edged with quiet defiance. “It was not my choice to fall ill. Dragons are not gentle beasts, and I was not prepared.”

Tywin straightened, folding his arms across his chest, his presence looming over the room like a shadow. “And what did you see in your ‘fevered dreams,’ Y/N? You speak of them as though they were real.”

“They were real,” you said sharply, holding his gaze without wavering. “I saw things I cannot explain—things I was meant to see.”

Tywin regarded you with cold calculation, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “You expect me to believe that visions visited you while you lay delirious with fever?”

“I don’t care what you believe,” you replied, your voice rising just enough to catch his attention. “But I know what I saw. I saw the Wall. I saw shadows moving beyond it, crawling toward us like a tide of death. I saw the Long Night, Tywin—ice and fire. The end of everything.”

Tywin’s expression hardened further, though he said nothing. His silence was heavier than any retort.

You pushed forward, emboldened by his quiet. “You ask me why I left. It wasn’t just for me—it was for all of us. The world we know is on the brink of something far greater than your wars, your armies, or your precious crowns. And you, for all your wisdom, refuse to see it.”

Tywin’s lip curled slightly, his voice cool and clipped. “I deal in what is real, Y/N. Fleeting shadows and the words of fever dreams do not win battles.”

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the stone floor as you leaned toward him across the table. “Then what will you do when those shadows are no longer fleeting? When they are real and they are here? Will you still dismiss me then?”

For a moment, the air between you crackled with unspoken tension. Tywin stared at you, his gaze like steel, but you saw something there—a flicker of doubt, the faintest hesitation. He was a man who measured every decision, every threat, and now you continue to place something in front of him that even he could not easily dismiss.

Finally, he broke the silence. “And these visions—this Long Night you claim to have seen—what do you expect me to do about it?”

You exhaled softly, your voice dropping as you replied, “Prepare. I told you before, Tywin. You may not believe in the threat, but you must prepare for it. Or everything you have built, everything we have… will burn or freeze to nothing.”

Tywin regarded you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You are adamant.”

“Because I know what I saw,” you said, softer now, but no less firm. “The blood of the dragon runs through me, Tywin. I may not understand all of it yet, but I know that I am meant to see these things. And I know they are coming.”

Tywin was silent, his sharp gaze fixed on yours as though searching for weakness, for any sign of doubt. He found none. Finally, he let out a slow, measured breath and straightened, his hands clasping behind his back.

“I will not act on dreams,” he said finally, his tone brokering no argument. “But I will not dismiss what you say entirely. If you are so certain of this threat, then prove it. Show me something more.”

You studied him for a moment, the flicker of progress—however small—giving you hope. “I will. And when I do, I trust you will listen.”

Tywin turned slightly toward the window, his gaze distant as he looked out across the sea beyond the Rock. “For now, you will rest. You are of no use to anyone bleeding and broken.”

You nodded faintly, knowing better than to argue further, though you allowed a faint smirk to tug at your lips. “You’re concerned about me, Lord Tywin. How surprising.”

Tywin glanced at you, his expression blank but his tone dry. “I am concerned about the future of House Lannister.”

“And so you should be,” you replied softly, turning to leave the room. “Because the future is changing—whether you’re ready for it or not.”

As you stepped into the corridor, you could still feel Tywin’s gaze lingering behind you, his silence a reminder of the walls he had built around himself. But for the first time, you saw a crack—a small one, but a crack nonetheless.

And you intended to widen it.

The clang of metal against stone echoed through the halls of Casterly Rock as servants struggled to maneuver the massive, heavy object up the stairs and into the solar where Tywin Lannister waited. Sunlight spilled through tall arched windows, illuminating the chamber as Tywin stood at his desk, his expression impassive as he oversaw the spectacle. By his side, Jaime Lannister leaned casually against the edge of the table, his one hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

“What in the Seven Hells is this?” Jaime muttered, watching as the servants carefully brought the large saddle—gleaming black leather, reinforced with steel and gold—into the room. The blacksmith, a gruff man with thick arms and soot-streaked skin, followed closely behind, wiping his hands on his apron.

“It is what I ordered,” Tywin said coolly, barely sparing his son a glance as he moved toward the saddle. “A proper saddle for a dragon.”

Jaime straightened, his brows rising incredulously. “A dragon saddle?” His voice carried a mix of disbelief and amusement. “So it's true—you’ve taken to commissioning furniture for her beast.”

The blacksmith cleared his throat nervously. “It is as you requested, my lord. The design took time—dragons are unlike any creature we’ve ever known.” He gestured to the saddle, his calloused fingers brushing over the polished leather. “The measurements are precise, as per Lady Y/N’s description of the creature’s back. Reinforcements were added to ensure the safety of the rider, and the straps can be secured to fit any variance in the beast’s size.”

Tywin ran his sharp gaze over the creation, his hands clasped behind his back. “It will hold?”

“Aye, my lord,” the blacksmith replied with confidence. “It will hold against water, wind, or impact. I’ve used only the strongest materials, with every piece of knowledge provided by the Citadel.”

Jaime let out a low whistle as he circled the saddle, inspecting it with faint curiosity. “And here I thought all those dusty books in the Citadel were good for nothing. Who would have guessed they still know how to outfit a dragon?”

Tywin ignored Jaime's sarcasm, his attention focused on the saddle. He stepped closer, his fingers running along the reinforced leather. “It will suffice,” he said with a curt nod before turning his sharp gaze to the blacksmith. “You will be compensated, as agreed.”

The blacksmith bowed deeply, his relief evident. “Thank you, my lord. It is an honor to serve House Lannister.”

“Leave us,” Tywin commanded, and the man quickly withdrew, his apron flapping as he followed the servants out of the solar, leaving the massive saddle in the center of the room.

Once the doors closed, Jaime crossed his arms and smirked at his father. “I’ll admit, I never thought I’d see the day when the mighty Tywin Lannister would commission something so… fantastical. A dragon saddle? Next, you’ll be sending ravens to Essos.”

Tywin turned his gaze on Jaime, his tone cutting and calm. “I do what must be done, regardless of how it looks to others. If my wife intends to ride a dragon, then she will do so properly. I will not have her injuring herself again.”

Jaime's smirk faltered slightly, and he raised a brow. “How thoughtful of you.”

Tywin ignored the bait, walking around the saddle as if assessing it from every angle. “This is not mere sentiment, Jaime. It is about control. If dragons are to return to this world, then they will not be wild beasts. They will be tools—assets to those who have the will and the power to wield them.”

“And the Targaryen girl across the sea?” Jaime pressed, watching his father closely. “Will you fit her dragons with saddles too?”

Tywin’s expression hardened. “The girl is a child playing at power. If she crosses the Narrow Sea, she will find herself tamed or destroyed, as all dragons before her have been.”

Jaime shook his head, almost laughing. “You speak as though dragons are cattle, Father. They’re not beasts to be chained or bartered—they’re fire made flesh. You can’t simply bridle a creature like that.”

“And you speak from ignorance,” Tywin shot back, his voice cold. “If we fear dragons, then we are weak. Dragons are only as dangerous as the men—or women—who command them.”

Jaime regarded him for a long moment before shaking his head with an amused smile. “And you think you can command them? Or is that a task you’ve left to your new Targaryen wife?”

Tywin’s gaze snapped to Jaime, his expression sharp as a blade. “Enough.”

Jaime held up his single hand in mock surrender, though the glint in his eye remained teasing. “I wonder what she’ll think of it. I can’t imagine she asked you to commission this.”

“She will see it for what it is,” Tywin said flatly. “A means to her safety and to her purpose.”

“And what purpose is that?” Jaime asked quietly, his tone less mocking now. “What are you truly planning, Father?”

Tywin turned his gaze back to the saddle, his fingers once again brushing over the leather. “To ensure the survival of House Lannister.”

The room fell silent at those words, the weight of Tywin’s ambition hanging between them. Jaime looked at his father, his expression unreadable as he processed the answer. Finally, he exhaled through his nose, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” Jamie said lightly. “A dragon saddle for your dragon-riding wife. The bards will have a field day with this one.”

Tywin ignored him, his thoughts already elsewhere. The saddle sat before him like a symbol of what he hoped to control—a bridge between the old world of dragons and the new one he sought to shape. It was not perfect, not yet, but it was a start.

And for Tywin Lannister, that was enough.

“Send word to Y/N,” Tywin said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. “Tell her to come. I want her to see this for herself.”

Jaime tilted his head, his smirk returning. “You’re a generous husband, Father. A saddle and an invitation—how charming.”

Tywin shot him a withering look, and Jaime chuckled softly, shaking his head as he moved to leave the room. “Good luck, Father. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

As the door closed behind Jaime, Tywin remained standing in the solar, his hands clasped behind his back as he studied the saddle. The faint creak of leather echoed in the quiet, and for a moment, his gaze softened—not with sentiment, but with certainty.

The dragon was no longer a myth. It was real, and now it had a place within his house.

And with that, Tywin Lannister began to prepare for the future he knew was coming.

The solar of Casterly Rock was filled with the scent of polished leather and the faint aroma of parchment. The sunlight streaming through the windows cast long beams over the massive dragon saddle Tywin had commissioned, the centerpiece of the room. It gleamed like an artifact of another age, a thing of legend made real, resting on a carved wooden stand as though waiting for its purpose to be fulfilled.

You stood there quietly, your gaze fixed on the creation before you. The saddle was black as night, the leather smooth and reinforced with steel, lined with cushioning where it would rest against Viserion’s sharp scales. Metal loops were embedded along its length for securing reins and straps, the craftsmanship impeccable. This wasn’t just a saddle—it was a declaration, one shaped in Tywin Lannister’s image.

Tywin stood near the desk, watching your reaction with that impassive, calculating gaze of his, his hands clasped neatly behind his back. He didn’t speak immediately, allowing you the time to take it all in.

“You summoned me for this?” you finally said, turning to him. Your voice was even, though your brow arched faintly. “A saddle for my dragon?”

Tywin inclined his head, his tone calm and clipped as always. “You will need it. The last time you rode, you returned injured and bleeding. That will not happen again.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion creeping into your voice. “And this sudden concern for my safety? A moment of sentiment from Lord Tywin?”

“It is not sentiment,” Tywin replied sharply, stepping forward to stand beside the saddle. “It is practicality. If you insist on riding your dragon, you will do so properly. I will not allow you to return to the capital in such a state again.”

“The capital?” you echoed, surprised. “I thought you intended to remain here at the Rock.”

Tywin straightened, his gaze hard and resolute. “We return to King’s Landing within the fortnight. Order must be reestablished. The realm is still reeling from the chaos of Joffrey’s death, and I will not allow instability to linger. The king—Tommen—needs guidance, and the court needs to see that House Lannister remains strong.”

You frowned, the weight of his words settling over you like an unwelcome burden. “And what of the dragon?”

“You will take it with you,” Tywin said simply, as though it were the most logical solution in the world.

You stared at him, searching his face for any hint of irony or doubt. “You expect me to bring Viserion to the capital? To fly a dragon over King’s Landing?”

Tywin’s expression did not waver. “Yes.”

“You cannot be serious,” you replied, incredulous. “Do you know what that will cause? Panic. Fear. You cannot control what happens when people see a dragon—”

“Control will be established,” Tywin interrupted firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “They will see strength. They will see House Lannister’s power embodied not only in its armies but in its alliances. A dragon allied with me is a dragon not allied with my enemies.”

You turned your gaze back to the saddle, your fingers brushing along its edge as you considered his words. “And if they don’t see strength? If they see a threat instead?”

Tywin stepped closer, his voice lowering just enough to hold an edge of authority. “Then they will learn quickly where their loyalty should lie. Dragons inspire awe, Y/N, but awe must be tempered with discipline. That is what you and I will ensure.”

You turned back to him, meeting his steady, piercing gaze. “And what of me? Is this your way of parading me through the capital like a symbol of victory? The Targaryen bride and her dragon?”

Tywin’s expression softened—just barely, though it was enough to catch your attention. “You are no mere symbol,” he said quietly, the steel in his tone tempered with something far more measured. “You are my wife and the mother of my heir. You are a Lannister now, Y/N, and everything you bring with you strengthens us.”

There was silence for a moment as his words settled over you. You watched him carefully, still wary of his motives, but beneath all of it, you couldn’t deny the truth of what he said. The world had changed, and with it, your place within it. Whether you liked it or not, this was your role to play—and Tywin Lannister was determined to see it done.

“You are certain about this?” you asked, softer this time. “The capital will not accept this lightly.”

Tywin’s lip curled faintly, almost as though amused by the idea. “The capital will accept what I tell it to accept.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you ran your hand through your hair. “You always did have a way of bending the world to your will.”

Tywin stepped closer, standing beside you now as you both regarded the saddle. “It is what must be done,” he said quietly, though there was a finality to his tone, a certainty that only Tywin Lannister could possess. “This saddle is more than leather and steel—it is preparation. It is control. And it ensures that no matter what comes, you will not be vulnerable again.”

You tilted your head, casting a sidelong glance at him. “And what of you, Tywin? You stand so calm and collected, but dragons are fire. They are chaos. Even you cannot master them.”

He turned to meet your gaze, his expression unreadable save for the faintest glint in his green eyes. “Then I will do what I have always done: I will ensure the chaos serves me.”

You let out a soft breath, almost a laugh, though it was tinged with resignation. “You are impossible.”

Tywin’s gaze softened fractionally, and for a fleeting moment, the hard edges of his mask slipped. “Perhaps. But I am never unprepared.”

You looked back at the saddle, its presence in the room a symbol of all the changes you had faced since leaving the North, since becoming his wife, since claiming your dragon. This was no longer a game of survival—it was a game of power, one you were now playing alongside him.

“I hope you’re right,” you murmured finally, your voice quiet but firm. “Because the fire has returned to the world, and it cannot be contained forever.”

Tywin said nothing, but his gaze remained on you, sharp and watchful as ever, as though he were already considering the battles to come. You turned back to the saddle, your fingers tracing its polished edge once more, knowing that soon enough, you would carry its weight—and everything it represented—back to King’s Landing.

And the world would see the fire for what it truly was.

The chamber was filled with the soft, playful coos of your son, Damon, who lay on a blanket spread across the polished stone floor. The sunlight streaming in through the windows of Casterly Rock bathed the room in a glow, catching the soft sheen of his hair as he waved his tiny hands in the air. You sat nearby, your gaze focused on him as you watched every little movement with quiet contentment, despite the hum of activity beyond the chamber doors.

The sounds of boots, servants calling instructions, and the distant clanging of metal filled the halls as preparations for the return to King’s Landing intensified. Yet here, in this moment, you allowed yourself a brief respite.

“Always such a calm child,” came the familiar voice of Lady Olenna Tyrell, who stood just inside the doorway, her sharp eyes softening only slightly as she looked upon Damon. “A rare thing these days.”

You turned to find Olenna, dressed in her usual elegant attire with a shawl draped over her shoulders. She approached with her deliberate, confident steps, her cane tapping lightly against the floor. “Lady Olenna,” you greeted warmly, though you sensed there was a purpose behind her visit. “What brings you here? I doubt it was to compliment my son.”

Olenna smirked faintly as she settled herself into a nearby chair, leaning her cane against the armrest. “You know I have a soft spot for children. They are like tiny little blank slates, unaware of the terrible things the world has in store for them.” She gestured toward Damon with a flick of her fingers. “But this one… he’s no ordinary babe, is he?”

You smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you turned back to Damon, who was now trying to roll onto his side. “No, I suppose he isn’t.”

Olenna regarded you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “And yet here we are, preparing to return to a den of snakes and lions. I imagine your husband is ecstatic to parade you and his dragon-riding bride back into the capital.”

You sighed softly, not bothering to hide your weariness. “He is determined. I think he sees this as a show of strength—a reminder of what House Lannister holds.”

“Strength,” Olenna repeated dryly, her sharp wit unmistakable. “And yet, you’re the one with the dragon. How curious.”

You turned to her, curious yourself. “You stayed,” you said, voice gentle but probing. “Why is that, Lady Olenna? You could have easily returned to Highgarden with Lord Mace.”

Olenna raised her brows, amusement flashing across her face. “Oh, please. Do you honestly believe I would allow Mace to bumble his way through something as delicate as… well, anything? No, my dear, I remained because you continue to intrigue me.”

“Me?” you asked, genuinely surprised.

“Yes, you,” Olenna said matter-of-factly, leaning back in her chair. “You are not the girl I remember hearing whispers about—a silver-haired princess in silks with songs written in her honor. Nor a Targaryen bride I've met in the capital. No, you’ve grown into something far more formidable, and that interests me greatly.”

You tilted your head slightly, your gaze steady as you studied her. “And what is it you hope to gain from staying here? Surely, you don’t mean to flatter me without reason.”

Olenna smirked, clearly enjoying this exchange. “Flattery is for fools and courtiers, my dear. I speak plainly. I stayed because I wanted to see for myself what kind of woman continues to captivate Tywin Lannister. What kind of woman could walk through fire, claim a dragon, and yet still sit here so… serene.”

You looked back at Damon, your expression softening as you reached down to adjust his blanket. “I have no choice but to be serene. What other option is there when chaos swirls around me?”

“Chaos indeed,” Olenna murmured. “And yet you’ve weathered it far better than most would. But tell me—what are you truly thinking as you prepare to return to King’s Landing? Surely you don’t intend to sit idly by while the vipers plot and the wolves circle.”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing Damon’s tiny hand as he grasped at them instinctively. “I’m thinking about my son,” you admitted softly. “About his future. And about the world we are leaving him.”

Olenna regarded you with a rare trace of sympathy. “A wise concern. The world is cruel, my dear, but it is especially cruel to children born of power. You would do well to remember that.”

“I know,” you replied quietly. “That’s why I stayed strong for him, even when I was flying across the skies on the edge of death. I will not fail him.”

Olenna nodded, her expression firm. “Good. Hold onto that resolve. You’ll need it in the capital.”

She paused, as if considering her next words carefully. “And tell me, child… what do you think Tywin truly hopes to gain from all this? The dragon, the spectacle, you?”

You met her gaze, your voice steady. “Tywin thinks he can control fire. But fire has a will of its own, Lady Olenna.”

Olenna’s lips curled into a smile, the kind that spoke volumes. “How very true.”

There was a pause, then Olenna rose carefully from her chair, leaning on her cane as she stepped closer to you and Damon. Her sharp eyes softened briefly as she looked down at the boy. “Take care of him,” she said simply. “And take care of yourself. You’re far too valuable to be thrown into the flames.”

You nodded faintly, your fingers lingering protectively on Damon’s blanket. “Thank you, Lady Olenna.”

Olenna turned with a regal air and began to make her way toward the door. Before she exited, she glanced back over her shoulder, the familiar glint of amusement in her eyes. “I wonder, my dear… when the fire finally does come, who will it consume first?”

With that cryptic remark, she left the chamber, her cane tapping softly against the stone as she disappeared down the hall. You sat in silence for a moment, her words echoing in your mind like a faint warning.

Turning back to Damon, you gently traced your fingers over his tiny hand as he drifted to sleep, your thoughts already racing toward the journey ahead. Fire, chaos, and power—they were all waiting for you in King’s Landing.

But you were no longer the girl you had been. You were ready.

The light of early dawn broke across the rugged hills surrounding Casterly Rock, washing the stone fortress in hues of amber and red. The Lannister banners snapped in the soft morning wind, the lions roaring proudly against a sea of scarlet. The main courtyard had become a sea of activity, filled with soldiers, guards, and servants preparing for departure.

At the head of the Lannister procession sat Tywin Lannister, mounted atop his warhorse, a commanding presence even in his silence. His posture was ramrod straight, his cloak of crimson and gold draping elegantly over the horse’s flank. He held the reins with ease, though his eyes remained fixed on the distant black mouth of the mines that yawned beneath the Rock. His expression was carefully neutral, but a flicker of impatience showed in the tightness of his jaw.

Beside him, Jaime Lannister sat atop his own horse, wearing his polished golden armor, the Kingsguard white cloak hanging loosely over his shoulder. His one hand gripped the reins as he turned to look at his father. “How long do you plan to wait, Father?” Jaime asked, his tone carrying that faint edge of irreverence he never quite lost. “We’re well past dawn.”

“As long as it takes,” Tywin replied curtly, his gaze never leaving the mines.

Jaime snorted softly, shifting in his saddle. “Do you think she’ll emerge carrying some Valyrian treasure, or will she just bring out more fire and chaos?”

Tywin shot him a sharp look, silencing the jest before it could continue. “If you cannot hold your tongue, Jaime, I suggest you ride to the rear.”

Jaime held up his hand in mock surrender, though the corners of his mouth twitched into a smirk. “No need for that. I wouldn’t dare miss the spectacle.”

And a spectacle it was. A sudden hush fell over the courtyard as a deep, resonating rumble echoed up from the depths of the mine. Horses shifted uneasily, their ears twitching and hooves stamping against the cobbled ground. The Lannister men, standing in their shining armor, stiffened as the air seemed to grow thick with something primal—something ancient.

Tywin’s eyes narrowed as all heads turned toward the mine’s entrance.

The sound came again—deeper this time, accompanied by the faint tremor of the earth. Then the shadows shifted, the yawning blackness giving way to movement as something vast and alive stirred within.

Out of the darkness, you appeared, striding forward with steady, unhurried steps. The hem of your dark riding cloak trailed behind you, the faint shimmer of Valyrian embroidery catching the light. Your silver hair flowed freely down your back, almost luminous against the shadow of the mine. You walked with purpose, your shoulders squared, but the real spectacle followed close behind.

Viserion emerged, her cream and gold scales gleaming like molten metal in the rising sun. The dragon’s massive head dipped as she passed through the mine’s entrance, hwe golden eyes narrowing at the crowd gathered before her. She let out a low, guttural growl that reverberated across the courtyard, sending a ripple of unease through the assembled soldiers. Some clutched their swords instinctively, others muttered prayers under their breath.

Viserion’s wings unfurled slightly, casting jagged shadows across the ground, before she settled into an ominous stillness behind you.

You stopped a few paces ahead of the dragon, your gaze lifting to meet Tywin’s. Even from atop his warhorse, his presence seemed dwarfed for a moment by the creature standing behind you, its every breath a deep, audible rumble. You inclined your head slightly, your tone calm, but laced with something firm and knowing.

“You summoned me, my lord husband.”

Tywin’s gaze met yours, unwavering, though the tension in the air was felt. “You took your time,” he said, his voice carrying that practiced coolness.

You tilted your head faintly, your lips curling into the faintest of smiles. “A dragon waits for no man.”

Jaime let out an audible huff of laughter at that, earning a warning glare from Tywin. He leaned closer to his father, his grin wide. “It seems she has a point.”

Tywin ignored him, his focus entirely on you and the beast behind you. “Is it ready to be controlled?”

You turned slightly to glance at Viserion, who shifted her head to watch Tywin as though understanding the words spoken. The dragon’s eyes narrowed, and she let out a soft hiss, smoke curling from hee nostrils.

“I am not sure ‘controlled’ is the word you’re looking for, Tywin,” you replied smoothly, turning back to him. “But Viserion and I understand one another.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change, though his sharp gaze flickered briefly to the wounds on your hands—cuts still healing from where you had ridden bare-backed. “Ensure that it remains so. The last thing we need is for your… companion to decide she no longer understands your authority.”

You stepped forward, your tone sharpening slightly. “You’ve nothing to fear from her. Viserion answers to me, and I answer to you. Is that not enough?”

Tywin considered your words carefully before nodding once. “For now.”

Jaime leaned forward in his saddle, his eyes still locked on the dragon with curiosity bordering on wonder. “I don’t suppose you’d let me ride it next? It would look far better on me than a horse.”

You shot him a dry look, though you allowed a hint of humor into your voice. “I don’t believe dragons take kindly to jesters, Ser Jamie.”

“Pity,” Jaime replied with a grin. “It’d make me quite the sight, wouldn’t it?”

Tywin cleared his throat, silencing Jaime as he turned his horse to face the assembled men. “We leave for King’s Landing at midday,” he commanded, his voice booming with authority. “There will be no disruptions, no delays.”

He turned back to you, his expression softening just enough that it might have been missed by anyone who didn’t know him. “Prepare yourself. You ride with us.”

You inclined your head, the faint glint of determination in your violet eyes. “I am ready, Tywin.”

With that, he spurred his horse forward, calling for Jaime to ride alongside him as the Lannister banners began to shift in the morning breeze. The procession prepared to move, but as Tywin rode ahead, he glanced over his shoulder one last time to watch you.

You turned to Viserion, reaching out to gently stroke the side of her snout as the dragon rumbled low in her throat. The crowd around you watched in awed silence, their fear mingling with a reverence they couldn’t quite articulate.

The fire and the lion would march together, and all of Westeros would feel the earth tremble beneath them.

[whispersleo]

MY TASTE IN MEN

This was supposed to be a warm-up meme sketch, but I started writing the comparisons seriously, so here’s the post...

Astarion and Illario

They become "villains"/bad guys as a response to trauma.

They use their beauty and body to deceive and objectify themselves to get what they believe they want.

They have suffered physical, verbal, and emotional abuse that would break anyone.

They don't want to see themselves as victims, nor show—they hate feeling—weakness. They want to be stronger and crave power at any cost.

They display superiority toward others when their entire lives they have been beneath or in someone's shadow.

They have become so accustomed to lying and manipulating that I doubt they even know their true selves.

They approach someone who welcomes them with open arms, all the while thinking about how to use that person.

They fall to pieces if you show them genuine affection and love, what it’s truly meant to be.

They would kill for you.

They are my wet rats; they have no body hair.

I think, after all, they do enjoy sex—it probably involves unconventional things.

What they want and what they need are VERY different things.

I can fix them.

They have a strange relationship with blood.

They would betray you if it meant saving their own lives.

Showing vulnerability is the last thing they want, and strangely, it's what would save both of them from becoming monsters.

I have a weakness for men who try to kill me. You're screaming for me to fix you babe.

This could end very badly or very well.

They are charming and it is easy to fall for their lies instead of seeing beyond that mask.

People see them as "dumb" when they are tremendously intelligent. They may not be textbook smart, but they know how to read people, ask the right questions at the right time, they wait for the opportunity and always analyze the situations they find themselves in. People call them "dumb" because it's easier to accept it instead of the complex idea that a character can be smart but a moron at the same time.

They won't be jerks to you, but they'll probably treat the waitress on the date poorly if she fucks up something.

They are the kind of person who is worth being romantically with, but to get there you have to take off their mask and that in itself is a great effort.

They definitely want to be someone's first choice, for once in their lives.

Deep down, all they want is adoration, love and respect.

I want to hold them and tell them that they deserve to be loved without any ties or conditions to that love.

Gale, Emmrich and Lucanis

They are sweet by nature, kind souls despite all the pain they've been through.

Showing kindness is what makes them strong.

Once they fall in love with you, they are lost.

They have enormous insecurities.

They feel the weight of the world on their shoulders all the time.

Great facial and body hair.

They have a strange relationship with death.

They have a huge heart that yearns to love.

I would feel very proud to introduce them as my partner. Like yes this good man loves me, isn't that amazing?

They have self-destructive tendencies.

It makes me blush to hear them laugh because it’s the most precious sound in the world.

I would feel safe with them around.

They would die for you.

Gale and Emmrich

They are professors, and I DEFINITELY don't feel an incredible attraction toward men who can teach me interesting and unknown subjects in depth (of course, that DOESN'T turn me on).

They are the smartest and kindest in this room.

They love to show and share their studies and knowledge with anyone willing to listen.

They are patient.

They know how to listen.

They offer their opinion when you clearly didn't ask for it.

Too many times they want to help or give advice without being asked.

They've had many partners, but they love you a lot, and that willingness to learn how to love again is one of their most beautiful qualities.

In some strange way, they know how to fight when I think they're meant to be treated with care and delicacy or they'll break (just kidding).

Oh, and by the way, both of them are mages—guess it's sexy that you can do a bunch of magical things...

They are nerds even when it comes to sex and I love that. Of course I don't know anything about anatomy, do you want to explain that to me, professor?

Astarion, Illario and Lucanis

They have killed more people than I should feel comfortable with.

"The hands that cradled your face and tilted it upwards to kiss your forehead are soaked in unfathomable quantities of blood." But they cradled me, yes?

They are trained assassins, and that raises some questions about my own morals.

Why do we kill?

What does it feel like to take a life?

What does it feel like to hold the weapon with which you snatch away the last moments of someone who was as human as you and me, who had desires, fears, aspirations, who didn’t want to die?

What kind of superiority do you think you have to do that and see your target as nothing more than a simple cockroach?

How can you sleep at night?

Do those thoughts torment you, or are your dreams sweet as if you hadn’t done anything wrong?

How do you decide that someone deserves to die, my love?

Would you kill me like you've killed so many if, in some way, you believe I deserve it?

Don’t you think the sins you see in others, in those you kill, are also your own?

I LOVE characters with complex morals, it's so sexy. Yes, baby, kill a few more, let's bathe in the blood of our enemies or anyone who opposes us, let's dance with their corpses, I love you.

I know they are flexible.

Astarion and Emmrich

A date in a cemetery? Sure! Wait, why am I excited to do it on a grave? Ugh, I hope this doesn’t awaken another weird fetish in me...

I can't stop thinking about blood and corpses in a way that's too pleasant.

Their sense of fashion is superior.

They always carry a brush with them, in case they get a little messy in the middle of a fight.

I think both of them can sew pretty well.

They have a strange desire to become some kind of superior being, and that could end very well or very badly.

There’s some strange necromancy here.

They love to read, and that's very cute.

Gale, Illario and Lucanis

Their long hair gives me years of life, I want to run my fingers through it, caress it, comb it, pull it, I love it.

Maybe I like their hair because it's like mine, but either way.

I love drawing them.

Thinking about them makes my brain jump in my skull.

I just want to take away all your pain.

They have been emotionally abused but they cannot recognize themselves as victims, because they feel love for their abuser and the abuser loves them in a horrible way, the way only a mother's love could twist you.

DEFINITELY MOMMY ISSUES.

(This becomes more complex thinking about the relationship between Mystra and Gale / Zara and Illario and Caterina but that needs a whole power point presentation).

Gale and Lucanis

Canonically, they are THE wife material.

They are soft and loving once you’re with them.

They know how to cook and do any domestic task you can think of.

The house/camp is always in perfect condition thanks to them.

They look at you like you are the most precious person in the world.

I want to get them pregnant.

They have the saddest, most puppy-like brown eyes that make you love them instantly.

Their face screams for kisses and affection.

I know that between your arms is the warmest place in the world and that I could fall asleep to the sound of your beautiful heart.

I would distract myself by running my hand through their beards and remove any white hairs I found (without them asking me to).

Lucanis wins points for speaking spanish but Gale also wins points because let's remember that he is a professor.

Astarion, Gale, Illario and Emmrich

Absolutely freaks in bed BUT they can be vanilla if you ask them pretty please.

Lucanis

This man is virgin and demisexual like me so I think I would feel extremely comfortable knowing that there is no pressure to do "it" and that he is a man who values ​​company beyond pleasure, calming one of my biggest insecurities.

Not saying the others here can't value company is just... Yeah just sex isn't for me now. And that has ruined many of my relationships. So it gives me more peace of mind to think that my lover can also be a virgin like me and none of us have that expectation.

I'm not saying that the others here would pressure me to do it either. I don't think any of them would. But I know that they can see it as something important in the relationship and there's nothing wrong with that.

Mph-mph.

Gale

He is MY wife.

I have his name tattooed on my arm like branded cattle and I love it.

I have 500 hours on Baldurs and I always start a game again just to hear him breathe.

His relationship with his ex wouldn't create insecurities in me because I already have them so nothing new.

I fear that this man has taken my expectations to a place that cannot be reached by "real" men and I will die alone bUT happy to have met a fictional character written as beautifully as him.

I want to fall asleep while he reads me a book.

He has a cat that talks and has wings, I love her.

I love men who just can't shut the fuck up.

I'm sure his mom would like me and you have no idea how important that is to me HAHAHA my mother-in-laws (except one) always hated me so I would like to feel welcomed in a home for one damn time.

I love him.

I can always like other characters but none as incredible as you, Gale.

[greentrickster]

Starting a new thread for the Great God Airplane AU (on the usual grounds (ie the original thread was getting Long)), because I've got more to say about it, because I'm me.

Was thinking about how having access to his god!memories would potentially effect Shang Qinghua, and I'm a little surprised to find that I don't think it'd make much difference, at least in this AU. I think the main, most noticeable change would honestly be that he's a lot calmer afterwards. The surprising part is that this isn't because he's not afraid of getting hurt or because he's got OP god powers or anything now, but simply because of how long he's been doing all this.

Like, one of the key features of Airplane's lives seems to be that he's always kinda hanging on by his fingernails when it comes to surviving, keeping up, managing to get by. He's busy busy busy all the time, and as a result of this he's not really aware of how impressive any of the stuff he does really is, because he's never had the time to really sit back and internalize it.

But that's what he finally got when he arrived in this world as a newly divine being with a perfect memory of both everything he'd written and his original outline, and only the instructions 'create it the way you wanted it to be.'

And he did.

He spent years upon decades upon centuries slowly, carefully crafting his world from the ground up, putting as much or as little thought into every single piece as he wanted to, no rush, no deadline, no obligations to anyone or anything but himself. The ability to lose himself in the pleasure of creation, consequence-free, the time to step back and take in everything he's made so far. Anything he needs, anything he wants, he can have, he can make, from snacks to assistants to handle the details he doesn't want to do but which the world needs in order to function, and in order to hold the story he wants it to tell.

And with all that time and experience came the gradual, quiet gaining of confidence. Because he's been doing all this for such a long time that not only the ability but the knowledge of having that ability has sunk deep into his bones. The ability to look at a task and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's capable of doing it and more.

Shang Qinghua still flusters and laughs and complains and grumbles and thirsts (oh how he thirsts), but instead of a basis of fear that he'll be overwhelmed and crushed beneath the demand, it's on a basis of 'if push comes to shove, he's up to the job.'

It takes him a little bit to notice this change in himself and, once he does, I think he goes and cries a little bit. Because his human memories are the predominant ones at the moment, so it's a strange, shocky sort of relief to suddenly realize that "Oh. I really am good enough. I've always been good enough. I don't have to be afraid that I'm not anymore."

In contrast, I think the thing he has the most fun with is that now, if one of his martial siblings is being a pain about budgets or something, he can go, "You know what, maybe I should just go back to Heaven and let you deal with all this! I could be eating celestial melon seeds right now while writing wildly self-indulgent danmei between organizing my files, but instead I'm down here, dealing with the fact that you can't manage a simple monthly budget! Because, you know, one of these things sounds a whole lot more fun than the other-!!!"

And then his martial siblings get to go, "You know what, on second thought I was being unreasonable, maybe I should see if there's something else I could do to fix this problem instead of just trying to make you fix it..."

[lordcaptains]

The portable lumens flickered and hummed as Heinrix van Calox stood over the fallen body of Emelina Lichtenhart.

Even with the ritual broken, shadows still gathered thickly beyond the weak glow of the lumens, which did little to dispel them - but little was little enough, and the mandrakes did not return. The survivors kept close to the light, casting nervous glances out into the darkness and, occasionally - and just as fearfully - up at the platform where the Rogue Trader's retinue stood.

Heinrix's eyes were still fixed on Emelina's face. She had shown him the only kindness he had known during his service to the Inquisition, and he had repaid that kindness with death, however merciful.

There had been little enough kindness in his life. His sisters had been kind, growing up on Guisorn III, but he had left them behind when was taken aboard the black ship to Terra. Then, in the Inquisition, Emelina had been kind to him, but she was dead now. Now there was -

Orica stood by his side, a strange reversal of their usual roles. She said nothing, but he could feel her watching him, waiting passively (patiently) - giving him time he should not need.

She was too close to him. (She wasn't close enough.)

Enough of that. He still had his duty to the Inquisition.

(Didn't he?)

"The fate of its fallen members is a matter for the Ordo," he grit out, his fists still clenched at his sides. "However, it is for the Rogue Trader to decide what becomes of Phton IV and its people."

Orica nodded. She did not touch him, and he was grateful for that mercy. He did not know if he could have borne her gentleness in that moment.

"What would you have me do, Heinrix?" she asked him instead.

He looked at her.

They both knew what she would do. She would take the survivors with them, as she always did. She would offer a place aboard her ship to those who wished it and safe passage through the void to those who didn't. He knew this, and so did she - there was no need to ask him what he thought.

Why did she want to know his thoughts? His mind was a dark and hateful place right now. It would do her no good to hear them.

But as she held his gaze, soft and steady but unyielding, waiting for his response, he understood.

She wasn't asking him what he thought she should do. She wanted to know how he was doing.

Heinrix didn't know how to answer that.

Instead, he answered the question she'd spoken aloud. "This world has been compromised. Any attempt to assess the degree of corruption will necessarily be based on weak judgement vulnerable to doubt and sentiment. I would get rid of the planet and its population."

He had called her weak. He had called her weak after Commorragh, too, and questioned her judgement then as well, and she had stood there and taken it, believing she deserved it as much as she had the Drukhari's lash. But it was a weakness to show such sentiment and mercy. It has been weakness for him to show such mercy to Emelina.

(It was weakness for her to show such compassion to someone like him.)

She nodded and turned to the survivors, and Heinrix remembered the first time he'd heard her address a crowd like this.

They had just arrived on Footfall, and having taken his leave from the Rogue Trader at the shuttle bay, Heinrix had sent a message to inform the Lord Inquisitor of his arrival on the station. He'd been awaiting Calcazar's response - the warp storms had rendered communications in the Expanse even more unreliable than usual - when he'd heard her voice.

She had stumbled over her words then, her voice shaking, and there were frequent, lengthy pauses in her speech - unfamiliar with the formalities of her new position, she had no doubt been repeating after her seneschal.

Now her voice was steady, her words delivered with quiet confidence and entirely her own.

"Survivors of Phton IV, my name is Orica von Valancius, Rogue Trader of the Koronus Expanse, and I offer you safe passage from this world."

[yolobloggers]

Centuries

~Summary: Klaus Mikaelson, the immortal hybrid, faces a torment that not even centuries of power can silence. Haunted by the fear that his name will fade into obscurity, he seeks solace in his art—and in the presence of Y/N, a love long lost but never forgotten. But in a world where the past is always present, can they truly leave behind the legacy of their broken love—or is it destined to remain a shadow, lingering just out of reach?

~A/N: This ones for you, A Cat <3 (@justlostinautumn) Love you xx

*You may see many of my one-shots/imagines being inspired by songs, music inspires me. I don’t think I can ever put into words how much music has impacted my life.*

~Characters and Pairings: Klaus Mikaelson x Reader(F)

~Inspired by the song: Centuries by Fall Out Boys

Some legends are told Some turn to dust or to gold But you will remember me Remember me, for centuries And just one mistake Is all it will take We'll go down in history Remember me for centuries Hey-ya, a-hey, hey-ya Remember me for centuries

The room was dimly lit, the soft hum of chatter and smooth jazz drifting in from somewhere beyond, mingling with the flicker of shadows dancing against the walls. Klaus stood before his easel, his paintbrush hovering mid-air, poised but unmoving. The colors on the canvas, though unfinished, already brimmed with his signature intensity—a masterpiece of bold strokes and vivid hues, a testament to his eternal ambition. His jaw clenched, frustration etched into every line of his posture.

From the corner of the room, Y/N watched him, her book abandoned in her lap. Her gaze lingered on the way his brow furrowed, the slight tension in his shoulders betraying his inner turmoil. She traced the curve of his silhouette with her eyes, a quiet awe stirring in her chest at the raw passion he poured into his art—even in moments of doubt.

He hadn’t spoken in hours, his focus shifting between the painting and the storm brewing behind his eyes. Finally, he broke the silence.

Mummified my teenage dreams No, it's nothing wrong with me The kids are all wrong, the story's all off Heavy metal broke my heart Come on, come on, and let me in Bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints And this is for to match The darkness that you felt I never meant for you to fix yourself

“Do you think they’ll remember me?” he asked, his voice quiet but heavy, the weight of centuries laced within it.

Y/N tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “Klaus Mikaelson, the immortal hybrid, ruler of empires, and breaker of hearts? I’d say you’re unforgettable.”

His laugh was sharp, humorless. He set the paintbrush down with a clatter and turned toward her. “Fear fades. Legends become footnotes. I’ve spent lifetimes ensuring my name is carved into the bones of history, but what if it’s not enough? What if, one day, I vanish without a trace?”

Y/N set the book aside and rose, her movements deliberate. The soft rustle of her dress echoed in the quiet room as she crossed to him. “That’s not why you’re afraid, Klaus,” she said, her voice soft yet firm. “You’ve been remembered for centuries, but you’ve never let anyone truly know you. Not the man behind the monster.”

Some legends are told Some turn to dust or to gold But you will remember me Remember me, for centuries And just one mistake Is all it will take We'll go down in history Remember me for centuries Hey-ya, a-hey, hey-ya Remember me for centuries

He froze, her words hitting deeper than he wanted to admit. She stepped closer, her presence a balm to his restless mind.

“Klaus,” she said, her tone gentler now, “I’ve seen sides of you the world never could. The way you looked after your siblings when no one else would. The man who painted to express the beauty he was too afraid to show. The one who... who once loved me enough to let me go.”

His eyes softened, the cold mask of indifference slipping. “And what good did it do me? You left, Y/N.”

“I left because you pushed me away,” she countered, her voice catching. “You were so consumed by the need to control, to dominate, that you couldn’t see you already had what you wanted. Me. Us.”

Silence hung between them, thick with memories of stolen kisses and whispered promises from a time long past. Klaus took a step toward her, his expression a mixture of regret and longing. “Do you think I wanted to lose you? That it didn’t destroy me?”

Y/N’s breath hitched as his hand reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. His touch lingered, gentle yet possessive, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek.

“You were my everything, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice trembling with a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to feel. “But I didn’t know how to keep you. I didn’t know how to be the man you deserved.”

And I can't stop 'til the whole world knows my name 'Cause I was only born inside my dreams Until you die for me, as long as there's a light My shadow's over you 'Cause I-I am the opposite of amnesia And you're a cherry blossom You're about to bloom You look so pretty, but you're gone so soon

Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “You could have tried,” she whispered.

“I’m trying now, ” he said, his voice barely audible.

Her resolve wavered as she saw the truth in his eyes. Centuries of pain and guilt swirled within them, but so did something else: hope. Slowly, she closed the distance between them, her hand resting over his heart.

“You don’t have to prove anything to the world, Klaus,” she said. “You’ve already left your mark on me. Isn’t that enough?”

His breath hitched at her words, and before he could think to stop himself, he closed the remaining space between them. His lips captured hers in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was raw and desperate, filled with years of longing and regret.

Some legends are told Some turn to dust or to gold But you will remember me Remember me, for centuries And just one mistake Is all it will take We'll go down in history Remember me for centuries Hey-ya, a-hey, hey-ya Remember me for centuries We've been here forever And here's the frozen proof I could scream forever We are the poisoned youth

Y/N melted into him, her arms winding around his neck as she pressed closer. His hands slid down her back, pulling her flush against him, as though trying to imprint her into his very being. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, as if he were memorizing every taste, every sensation.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. Klaus’ hands framed her face, his thumbs brushing against her flushed cheeks.

“You’ve always been unforgettable, Klaus,” Y/N whispered, her voice shaky but full of affection. Her fingers trailed down his chest, resting just over his heart. “Maybe it’s time you let yourself believe it.”

And for the first time, he thought he could.

He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before whispering against her skin, “You’ve always been my eternity, Y/N.”

Some legends are told Some turn to dust or to gold But you will remember me Remember me, for centuries And just one mistake Is all it will take We'll go down in history Remember me for centuries Hey-ya, a-hey, hey-ya We'll go down in history Remember me for centuries!

As he pulled her into his arms, the weight of centuries seemed to fade away. For the first time, Klaus felt something beyond ambition or rage—a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, eternity wouldn’t be so lonely after all.

~Tags~

~The Vampire Diaries/SPN:

@akshi8278

@sparklesmolwarriorprincess

[thestraggletag]

Kin, Part 1 of 3

Prompt: Dragon, Transform, Capture, Marriage, Nest

Giftee: @minnl70

Summary: Chosen by the Blue Fairy to slay the last dragon, Belle defies her fate and strikes a deal with the beast, Rumplestiltskin. As they search for a way to break the enchantment, an unexpected bond begins to form, but magic is never without a price—and never quite straightforward.

Rating: M

A/N: Surprise, @minnl70, it's me, your Secret Santa! I'm away on holidays right now but I made sure to properly queue this up for you. If all goes well all chapters of this fic will be posted today, but I'll try to check to make sure they are (and, if possible, also upload the fic to AO3, which I know makes it easier to read). Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

Belle had forgotten what it was like to live without the ever-present threat of ogres. What it was like to not be a prisoner in the fortified castle that was keeping her people alive and protected. What it felt like to not have fear coat the back of her throat. She should be glad that, finally, a fairy had consented to come to their aid. And not just any fairy, but the Blue Fairy, rumoured to be the most powerful of them all. And yet the Lady of the Marchlands felt more uneasy in front of the tiny creature that she had felt in the midst of an ogre attack. There was something about her, something in her demeanour and her syrupy voice that unnerved her.

Maybe it was that she was just now answering their summons. Why not before, when the problem of ogres was easier to fix? Before the bloodshed and the loss of territory? Before the death of her mother? When she had tried to ask that, the fairy had dismissed her concerns, explaining that she could only “just now” be of assistance, without any further elaboration. To Belle the only difference between then and now was the increased desperation, and she couldn’t help but think that this is why the Blue Fairy had waited. For them to be desperate enough to agree to anything, and pay any price.

“The solution to your problem is very simple, though it lies beyond my abilities alone. You need a dragon. Unfortunately, there’s only one left.”

Everyone knew that. Just as everyone knew that, in a distant past, dragons had been uncommon, but not rare, creatures. Nowadays there was only one left, known popularly as the “Dark One”, a being of immense power and magic, that was unlikely to come to their aid.

“Dragons are hard to command, but I can bind its essence to a mortal and subjugate it.” The Blue Fairy spoke of slaving a magical creature as if she was commenting on the weather, or what colour would be in fashion next season. “But it cannot be just any mortal we choose. It must be a maiden, beautiful of body and mind, with blue blood. Someone important.”

It didn’t take a smart person to decipher what the fae meant, and if anyone had any doubts the way her father fiercely opposed the notion would make it very clear. Belle shrunk back in the shadows, uncomfortable with the way the fairy looked at her when she spoke about the binding. There was a greed behind her eyes that felt all too human as she raised her wand without warning and swished it around in her direction, letting fairy dust  float over to her, seeming to take her consent and cooperation for granted.

“It is the only way, sire.”

“To Hell with it. To hell with you. There is no way my little girl is getting anywhere near a dragon.”

In the end, in spite of the protest of all his advisors, Lord Maurice had sent the Blue Fairy away, though she had promised to return in a month’s time, so that the Lord had “enough time to come to his senses”. There was no defeat in her person, only that self-assured, condescending look that told her that she thought she knew the outcome of things already.

Ordinarily, Belle would have felt uncomfortable at the notion that her father would prize her safety above the safety of her people, but she was glad that he sent the Blue Fairy away. Once she was gone Belle was free to go to their library, or what remained of it, and do her own research about what Reul Ghorm had claimed. The books did all seem to point towards a dragon as the most likely solution to her problem. Ogres feared to tread on land claimed by a dragon. It was why ogres incursions had become much more common than a thousand years ago, and why the ogre population had expanded to such a degree. If their land was guarded by a dragon they would be safe not just from this horde, but from any other that appeared in the future. It seemed that the Blue Fairy had not been lying about that, but it didn’t necessarily mean Belle could trust her. There was something else, a reason why the fairy would suddenly seek to help them after years of fighting ogres. Something she hoped to gain for herself that Belle had no intention of giving her. Her unfinished spell had settled on her like a mark on her, a patch of skin on her left shoulder blade, where Blue had rested her wand before her father had stopped her, that seemed to burn whenever she thought about the fairy, as if in warning. 

She kept on investigating, sure that there would be another way of dealing with the Dark One that did not involve forcing him into bondage. She delved deeper, going to the most obscure section of the library, which had blessedly been preserved from the ogre attack that had killed her mother. The scant few ancient tomes they had were housed there, books so archaic they were written in obscure languages almost no one spoke anymore. Languages Belle had mastered the reading of years ago, in secret, after being told those books were forbidden to her. 

It wasn’t until she was halfway through a heavily water-damaged book that she learned the truth. There was a reason why dragons whisking away princesses was a cliche present in most stories told to children. It was because the fairies had been using maidens for what looked like centuries to kill dragons. The book detailed only one such case, which she would’ve dismissed if she hadn’t almost experienced something identical. According to the book dragons were bound to maidens not so they could be tamed, like it had been promised, but so that they would be made vulnerable. The maiden was whisked away and killed by the creature, and later on a knight or a prince, seeking to avenge the woman would- with the help of the fairies, and some prodding along the way- slay the beast and become a dragon-slayer.

It didn’t take Belle long to envision who the fairies had had in mind for that role. She was, after all, betrothed to a hunter. Gaston was a nobleman in the most lax sense of the word, for there was nothing noble in his behaviour or his thoughts. Violent and bloodthirsty, Belle had no doubt he would be more eager to add the title of dragonslayer to the ones he already possessed than to avenge her.

The ogres were an excuse. A means to an end. A way to have a small kingdom become so desperate that their king would be willing to risk one of his daughters. Her papa’s overprotectiveness, his fierce love for her, was the one thing the fairy had not counted on. She had hoped the ogres would be enough of a bargaining chip to get her father to agree.

Belle didn’t find the prospect of dying very appealing, nor the idea of causing the death of the last dragon, and helping the Blue Fairy achieve whatever she was hoping to achieve with the extermination of the Dark One. So, instead, she pivoted on her search, looking for ways to summon dragons. They had a reputation as dealmakers, creatures interested in bargaining to get what they wanted. Surely she could make a deal so that the dragon would protect her people and drive the ogres away. This way she would be in control of her destiny, and serve no other purpose than her own. 

She did the summoning just as the sun set a fortnight after the Blue Fairy had been driven away. She forced herself to act nonchalant as she told her father she planned to take one of the horses and scour a nearby meadow for medicinal herbs they were in desperate need of, kissing his cheek lightly when all she wanted was to throw herself into his arms and have her father hug her so tight he’d lift her off the floor like when she was a child. She made herself pack lightly, lest she arouse suspicion. Some spare undergarments, a little medicine, her favourite book, ink and paper in case there was ever an opportunity to write to her father. She had already done so, leaving a detailed letter in her room that would explain everything to him, along with the books she had consulted and a translated copy of the important passages. She wanted him to understand, if nothing else. And she promised to come back if she could.

With that she took Philippe, her oldest and most reliable horse, and took off into a clearing in the woods she hoped would be private enough, the trees so old they were amongst the tallest in the Enchanted Forest. There all she had to do was say the name of the dragon- it’s real name, written and almost entirely crossed out a number of times in her book- three times.

“Rumplestiltskin, Rumplestiltskin, Rumplestiltskin!”

Nothing happened, for the longest time, to the point where Belle began to despair of having to summon the Blue Fairy after all, when something moved in the darkness beyond the clearing. A pair of dark gold eyes appeared, followed by the glint of golden scales as the dragon stepped into the bit of sun the trees around her couldn’t cover. It was a huge creature, but smaller than what she had envisioned, with green-gold scales covering his belly and dark ochre ones on the rest of its body. It walked on four legs with the grace of a cat, and its eyes spoke of intelligence beyond that of any animal. And not just intelligence, but craftiness. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

Even though she had assumed the dragon would be able to communicate somehow, it still surprised her when it spoke in a low, sibilant voice.

“My name is Belle and I’m-”

“Oh, I know who you are, dearie. Which begs the question… What’s the beautiful maiden doing, alone in the woods with the scary dragon?”

“I know I have nothing to be afraid of. I’ve read about it, about where all the stories about abducted princesses and slayed dragons come from.” She paused when she saw the slightest change in the dragon’s expression, from faintly-mocking to suspicious. She was surprised at how expressive it could be, given the scales and the sharp angles of its face. “Can you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“The Blue Fairy’s magic on me.”

Its frown- his frown really- deepened, and he moved his long neck to get his nose closer to her, taking in a deep breath before huffing out a puff of smoke, as if it had scented something foul. Before it could be angry at her she rushed to explain that she was not in any rush to rid the world of its last dragon. She told him the entire story, about her people’s desperation and how, finally, the Blue Fairy had come to offer her help. What she had told them about dragons and how she had managed to start her spell before her father had thrown her out of the castle, and what she had uncovered afterwards.

“So, instead of dealing with one duplicitous magical creature, you decided to turn to a far more dangerous one for help? Why would I even help you, dearie? I could just pluck you from here and put you atop a tall tower with no doors and be rid of you as a problem.”

“And I could leap from the tower. Or starve myself. And then you’d be mortal.”

The dragon stood very still, looking at her more intently, only his tail swishing back and forth, which she took to mean he was displeased. Or perhaps curious. She had the feeling he was very much used to getting his way, and hadn’t counted on her having thought things through. She couldn’t tell whether that gave her an advantage or simply served to make him angry.

“But I won’t. I won’t do any of those things. I will come willingly, if you get rid of the ogres in my land. It’ll give you time to figure out how to undo Reul Ghorm’s magic. And then we can part ways in peace.”

The dragon seemed to study her for the longest time, eyes slightly narrowed and strangely still, looking more like a gleaming statue than a live creature. Then, after what felt like an eternity, it unfurled its wings to pounce on her, talons catching on the edges of her cloak.

“Deal’s struck, dearie!”

There was a cloud of burgundy magic, smelling of burnt wood and sage instead of the Blue Fairy’s cloying flower smell, and when she could see again she was in what looked like a castle.

“Is this where you live?”

Belle wasn’t sure what she had pictured, but it wasn’t the run-down opulence of her surroundings.

“Disappointed it’s not a cave? Or a mountain made of bones?”

She shook her head, even though she had pictured something more akin to a cave. The castle was dark, barely lit by a few pitiful, sputtering torches on the walls, and the faint light coming from a series of tall but hopelessly-dirty windows. It smelt damp but also of burnt wood, and a layer of ashes seemed to cover everything. She could feel the chill in the air and knew, without seeing, that it was snowing outside. They were likely atop a mountain, given the thinness of the air.

“Come along, dearie, I’ll show you where you can sleep and be out of the way.”

The sheer size of the castle allowed the dragon room to move, though it was a tight fit in narrow corridors and down winding stairs, not checking to see whether she was following him or even if she could, given what little light there remained as they went deeper down into the bowels of the castle. They finally came to what looked like-

“A dungeon? You want me to sleep in a dungeon?”

The dragon turned away, uninterested in whether she agreed or not.

“You can do as you please, dearie. This is the cleanest and warmest place you’ll find to sleep tonight.”

Sleep was not exactly something Belle saw a lot of that night, curled up over a pile of musty straw, her cloak wrapped tightly around her as she let herself cry, thinking about her father, who had likely already discovered what she had done, thinking of her room, which still smelt like the lavender packets her more insisted they make every year, and everything of hers she had left behind.

The crying must have eventually exhausted her, because she woke up the next morning to less darkness than before. There was a small sliver of a window up high from which some pale morning light seemed to enter. With it she could see the mouse holes, the gossamer spider webs in the corners and the patches of mold in the bits of hay she had discarded the night before by their smell. There was, also, an old oil lamp, the handle rusted over but with a bit of oil still inside. She lit it using one of the torches outside and decided to go exploring, deciding that at least she needed to identify a source of freshwater, and hopefully a place with food.

The castle was less intimidating in the light of day. It gave off an air of fargone opulence, of wealth and power having fallen into disrepair and neglect. She went from room to room, trying to come across anything that resembled a kitchen. Instead she found herself in a bit, opulent room, with faded but once-rich tapestries and thick rugs on the floor. It felt warmer than anyone else, inviting her inside, till something made her stand still.

There was someone else in the room. She didn’t know how she could tell, a feeling in her bones she had never had before, but she was absolutely sure. She held out the lantern in front of her, as far as her arm could reach, and waited for her eyes to adjust. At first she saw nothing, just the expected darkness. But as her eyes adjusted to it she began to notice a faint shape. Thin and scraggly, barely taller than her, and full of sharp angles. Decidedly non-human, but unlike any creature she’d ever seen.

“Who are you?”

The thing seemed to vibrate with excitement at her question, large, golden eyes focusing on her. Belle rather thought she felt like a rabbit ought, when spotted by a wolf. Every nerve-ending was tingling, age-old instincts telling her to turn and run. To escape. But she knew those eyes, as impossible as it seemed.

“I think you know, dearie.”

His voice was heavily accented, and higher than what one would expect from a human male. It had a sing-songy quality to it, a mocking sort of undertone that was difficult to ignore. It was a silly voice meant to contrast with the dangerous nature of the speaker, but still carried a faint sibilant trace she recognised.

“You’re the Dark One.”

The figure in the shadows moved until it was partially in the light. She saw then that her initial impression was right: a thin, unnatural figure dressed in ripped leathers and hide, with green-gold, scaly skin, golden eyes and matted long hair. Sharp teeth too, from what she could see. Much like his dragon form in many ways, but different at the same time. Less unreadable, perhaps, now that she could better understand his mannerisms.

“Dragons are natural shapeshifters, and as large as this castle is it can be quite uncomfortable to navigate in my other form. This is as much the real me as the creature you met yesterday. And an infinitely more convenient form to read books in. Easier to turn the pages, and less likelihood of burning some priceless tome to a crisp.”

The dragon seemed just as dangerous in his smaller form as he did in his big one, the taint of dark magic hanging around him like a cloak, so potent even someone with no magic like her could feel it. Still, they had an agreement, and everything she had read about the Dark One said he never reneged on deals.

“Is there anything you need in particular, dearie? Can’t think of any reason why you wouldn’t be avoiding me like mice avoid cats.”

The way he smiled at her at that, showing his teeth as if to remind her that he was predator and she prey. Belle took a deep breath, bringing the lantern closer to her so the light would bolster up her courage.

“I need to know the way to the kitchens. You don’t want me to starve any more than I do, so it’d be helpful if I could know where the food and the water are.”

He flicked a clawed finger, a tiny wisp flame forming in the air. It was a strange, almost green colour and danced around, as if eager.

“Follow the little wisp, it’ll guide you to the kitchens. You can take whatever you want from there, if it’ll keep you from bothering me.”

With another flick of his wrist the flame was off, scurrying quickly out of the room and leaving a faint green-gold trace in its wake that Belle barely managed to catch. It seemed to weave in and out of hallways for what felt like forever, but finally it led her the right way, towards a filthy, but very spacious, kitchen. Cobwebs, dirt and grime covered almost every surface area she could see, and the amount of space highlighted how barren the room was. Some fishing around uncovered a barrel of questionable apples and some hard bread, but nothing more. There was a well just outside, sheltered from the wind by the castle walls, which was difficult but not impossible to operate. 

She understood then the glee the creature showed when she mentioned wanting something to it. The dragon clearly disliked her and her presence there, and she couldn’t exactly blame him, when maidens had been used for hundreds of years to decimate dragons. She couldn’t fathom what it would be like, to be the last human. To have no kin. To live alone.

Her situation was not so dire in comparison, and she told herself that as she gathered up her hair and munched on the least sour apple she could find. She could make the best of a bad situation. The castle might be a bit rundown, but it was spacious and beautiful, full of interesting nooks to explore. This was an adventure, if she was only brave enough to take it on.

[n0cturn4]

Series In every universe - 9 . Tim Drake

Character: Tim Drake x Reader Summary: "Do you think we’ll find each other in other lives?" Word Count: 763 Land of Ancient Times.

Under the starry sky of a night that seemed endless, Tim found himself once again at the edge of the enchanted forest, where the moonlight softly illuminated a clearing covered with silver flowers. The knight, clad in his gleaming armor, carried in his heart the mystery of his quest, though his eyes sought her instinctively. He knew she was there, hidden among the shadows and mist, as she had always been.

And then, from the silence of the trees, she appeared. The mystical creature who belonged to the forest and time itself, her eyes gleaming like ancient sapphires, her steps light upon the ground. Her presence exuded a profound serenity, as if she were the very embodiment of the earth's magic.

"Here I am again, knight," she whispered, her voice as melodious as the song of a hidden stream.

Tim smiled upon seeing her, yet a melancholy, unintended, showed in his face. He approached with the care of one who fears breaking a precious spell, extending his hand, as if reaching to feel her ephemeral touch, once more.

"Tell me," he began, hesitant, his eyes fixed on hers, "do you think... we will find each other in other lives?"

She looked at him with a sweet sadness, as if that were the oldest secret guarded by the forest. Yet there was no doubt in her answer, only a promise that echoed beyond time.

"If it is up to my will," she replied softly, "I shall find you in every one of them."

And in that moment, with the soft breeze carrying her words through the air, Tim knew that their fate would never be undone.

Tim observed every detail of her as one who tries to engrave a secret deep within his memory. At each meeting, it was as if he tried to steal from time one more moment by her side, though he knew they inhabited different worlds. She belonged to the roots and the stars, as ethereal as the breath of an ancient legend; he was bound to the weight of mortal lands, the steel of his armor, and the duty of protecting a kingdom she would never see.

"Why do you look at me so, knight?" she asked in a melody that seemed to soothe his heart. There was a soft 7in every word she spoke, a tenderness that bound Tim in an invisible chain.

"Because I fear that each time I bid farewell to you, it may be the last," he confessed, feeling his chest tighten under the weight of his own mortality. "And though I wish to remember every trace of your face, I always fear that you... will fade, like a dream upon waking."

She then approached, a mystical gleam flickering in her eyes as she touched his face with gentle fingers, bringing an unexpected warmth. Tim closed his eyes at the feel of that touch; eternity seemed to fit into that simple gesture, and the world outside ceased to matter.

"Tell me, Tim," she whispered, so close that her breath blended with her murmur, "if your heart believes so faithfully, then what fear could there be? Are you not, indeed, the only one capable of finding me, even in the deepest darkness?"

The knight opened his eyes, meeting the depth in hers. There, he felt seen and understood in a way he had never known. As if she had known him before his very existence, as if their souls had crossed paths in past lives, somewhere beyond the veils that separated time and eternity.

"It is as though you have dwelled in each of my dreams, each sigh, long before I could even understand what longing was," he replied, his voice laden with emotion. "Nothing could keep me from following your trace, from finding you in every life that comes after this one."

She smiled, with a touch of sadness, as one who knows what he would never understand. On her face, the reflection of an ancient, immortal certainty.

"So it shall be, then," she said, resting her forehead against his in a silent gesture that spoke louder than words. "I will be waiting for you, Tim. In every era, in every sunrise, your spirit will find me, and I shall be the shadow beneath the tree, the wind among the flowers, the river's song at dusk."

With one last touch, she stepped back, slowly disappearing into the forest's dimness. And the knight remained there, knowing that at the end of all ages, in some other world or life, he would find her again — for so he desired, and that wish would travel through the centuries until they met once more.

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

Chains of Destiny - The change (Ch.4)

Summary: I don't really know how to summarise this chapter, so please have this quote from this part: “You know you can tell me when I’m being a jerk, right? Call me out on it. I probably need it.”

Content warning: Angst, fluff, Logan actually has a heart in this one, supportive Logan.

Authors Note: So Logan isn't always going to be a jerk. He's actually a soft teady bear that secretly cares.

Tags: @danicl25 @mxrtiaxv @ayamenimthiriel @jinndesu

Eva's footsteps echoed faintly, a rhythmic tremor in the hollow quiet of the hallway. She stumbled forward, breaths shallow and broken, her heart hammering as if it might beat its way free. Each wall seemed to close in on her, the shadows pressing, darkening her vision until the way back to her room was little more than a blurred path. When she finally reached it, her fingers fumbled with the lock; her hands shook violently as if they carried the weight of all her failures. She pressed her back against the door, sliding down as though that fragile barrier alone could keep out the memories clawing at her mind—the pain, the gutting fear, the gnawing sense of unworthiness.

She sank to the floor, her vision splintering as she gasped for breath. Why am I here? The thought pierced her, sharp and unforgiving, stabbing straight to the heart of her doubt. What made me think I could change? She pressed her fists against her temples, willing the noise to stop, but it only grew, a relentless chorus of her insecurities. Each thought, each whispered doubt, pounded in rhythm with her pulse.

Then, in the quiet, she felt it—a presence just beyond the door. A soft knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts, followed by a voice, gentle yet clear. “Eva,” Charles Xavier called, his tone as calm as a hand on a storm-tossed sea. “May I come in?”

For a heartbeat, his words didn’t register, lost in her frantic haze. Her power stirred in response to her distress, and before she could contain it, a pulse of energy rippled outward, an unrefined surge that shoved Charles back. She recoiled, wide-eyed, her breath catching in horror. “No—no, don’t!” she stammered, backing away, her body tight with the dread of her own strength, as though it were something separate, wild and uncontrollable.

Charles steadied himself, his expression unshaken, radiating a patient understanding. He wheeled closer, undeterred, his gaze as steady as his voice. “Eva,” he said softly, “I felt your struggle. You don’t have to be alone in this.”

Her face twisted in a rush of anger and despair, her voice breaking as she spoke. “You all think you can help,” she choked out, the words brittle and jagged. “That you can just fix me, make me into some sort of—of project.” Her voice caught, and she bit down hard to keep from crying, her shoulders tight with the weight of it. “I never should have left that place. At least there, no one pretended to care.”

A shadow of sadness crossed Charles’s face, the fine lines around his eyes softening as he listened to her words, absorbing the pain in each syllable. “Eva,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “you’re here because you have a future far beyond what they led you to believe. But you have to give yourself time. One session doesn’t define who you are.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth, willing back the flood of memories rising like dark water, images of faces, flashes of voices, all drowned in her shame. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice barely a tremor. “Every time I use my powers, I see them—all those people I hurt, the ones I couldn’t save. I hate it. I hate this feeling. I hate... who I am.”

From down the hall, Logan felt the force of Eva’s anguish like a heatwave, the sharp ache in her aura guiding him toward her. He didn’t need to hear her words to feel the depth of her despair, but her voice reached him just as he arrived, filling him with a pang that ran deeper than anger. He lingered at the doorway, silent, his rough exterior softened by the sight of her pain.

Logan stood in the doorway, watching her from a distance. The raw vulnerability in Eva’s voice—the way she bared her fears and self-loathing—hit him in a place he thought he'd locked away long ago. She was terrified; he could feel it in the air, thick and suffocating, as though her pain radiated from her in waves. It stirred something deep within him, a flicker of recognition, as if he were staring into a mirror of his own past.

Her voice grew softer, but the desperation in her words cut straight through him. “I don’t want to be a weapon. I don’t want to be someone’s victim, either. But I don’t know how to do what Logan expects of me.” She looked up at Charles, her eyes wet with unshed tears, shimmering with the weight of her doubt. “I feel his anger, like a force I can’t escape. Every time he’s near, it’s like he resents me. And I don’t even blame him. I don’t want to be the reason anyone else suffers—just by being around me.”

Before Charles could respond, Logan stepped forward, his presence filling the space. Eva’s head snapped up, her expression raw, startled. She looked at him as if he were another threat, yet her gaze held a faint glimmer of hope. Charles glanced between them, offering Logan a knowing nod before stepping aside.

“Mind if we talk alone?” Logan asked, his voice softened by an unfamiliar gentleness. Charles gave Eva one last encouraging look before quietly leaving the room.

Once the door closed, Logan took a step forward, but when he saw her flinch, he paused, letting the weight of her fear settle around him. Slowly, he lowered himself to sit on the floor beside her, careful to give her space, his posture relaxed, open.

“Look,” he started, his voice low, gravelly, though touched by an edge of kindness. “I know I’ve been… well, a bit of a jerk, to say the least. And I’m not about to make excuses for it. But there’s something I need you to understand, Eva—I’m not mad at you. Not in the way you think.”

Her gaze remained on the floor, her hands twisted tightly in her lap. “Then why do you look at me like that? Why does it feel like… I’m just a burden?”

Logan exhaled, raking a hand through his hair as he searched for words that wouldn’t come out rough. “Because, kid… you remind me of a part of myself I’d rather forget,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “The anger, the pain, the way you push people away to keep them safe—that used to be me.”

She glanced up, surprise mingling with the doubt in her eyes.

“When I first got here, I didn’t know who the hell I was supposed to be,” he went on. “I knew how to fight and survive, but not how to live. And controlling my own powers?” He chuckled softly, a dry, self-deprecating sound. “Let’s just say, I thought Charles was out of his mind for letting me through the door. But he showed me that maybe, just maybe, I could be something more.”

A tentative look softened her features, curiosity mixing with lingering disbelief. “But you know who you are now. You’re strong. You’re… not broken like me.”

Logan shook his head slowly, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Kid, I don’t think you get how broken I really am,” he replied, his voice rough but honest. “I may have figured some things out, sure, but I still screw up. You saw that today.” He hesitated, glancing at her fragile posture, the hurt still visible in her guarded expression. “And I’m sorry if I made you feel like you were back with the people who locked you up. That was never my intention.”

She drew in a shuddering breath, her hands twisting in her lap. “I don’t know if I can do this, Logan. Every time I try to control it, it’s like… like I’m slipping. Like I’m losing control. And that terrifies me.”

Logan nodded, a flicker of understanding softening his gaze. “I get that,” he said, his voice calm. “But you don’t have to figure it all out at once. And you don’t have to do it alone.” He met her eyes, a hint of a smile breaking through his usual sternness. “You know you can tell me when I’m being a jerk, right? Call me out on it. I probably need it.”

A small, unexpected laugh slipped out of her, soft and hesitant, but there. Logan caught it, his own smile growing as he watched a touch of light break through the darkness clouding her face. For the first time, she looked at him without the fear that had shadowed her eyes.

“I’ll try,” she whispered, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.

Logan leaned back, nodding with satisfaction. “Good. That’s all I’m asking. And if it’s any consolation, I don’t have all the answers either. But I’m here, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.” His voice softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through. “I hate seeing you afraid of me. That’s the last thing I ever wanted.”

Eva looked at him, relief softening her expression, a weight seeming to lift from her shoulders. For the first time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to face her fears alone.

Logan settled back, easing into the silence that hung between them, content just to sit there beside her. And in that quiet, something unspoken passed between them—a silent promise, a shared understanding forged in the dark, where two broken souls might finally begin to find their way back to the light.

***

Logan walked beside Eva as they made their way back to the training grounds. His usual brisk stride was tempered, his expression calm yet intent. The frustration that had rattled him earlier was replaced by a steadfast determination to make things right. The room ahead felt different now, bathed in a softer light that seemed to lift the weight of tension hanging between them. He glanced at her, hoping to ease the tightness in her shoulders.

“Alright, kid,” he said, striving for a steady, even tone. “I think we got off on the wrong foot here. Let’s start over.”

Eva looked up at him, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, but she was listening.

“Let’s go back to basics,” Logan continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “I need to understand what you can do and how it feels when you try. No pushing yourself too hard—just give me what you’ve got, and we’ll work from there.”

Taking a breath, Eva wrestled with the tangled mess of her powers and the haunting memories of her training in captivity. “I… don’t know if I can do everything they wanted me to. They kept pushing me, pushing until I broke, just to see how far I’d go.”

Logan listened intently, his brow furrowing in concern. He didn’t press her; instead, he nodded, shifting his posture slightly to invite her to continue.

“They taught me to heal, mostly,” she said, her voice tremulous. “That’s what they cared about. If someone’s hurt or sick, I can… take it into myself. It’s like swapping their pain for mine.” She hesitated, the weight of her past hanging in the air. “And if I touch someone, I can feel their emotions and thoughts, like waves crashing over me. Sometimes it’s just too much.”

Logan’s expression was hard to read, but his gaze softened with understanding. “What about when you try to protect yourself? That… force repulsion thing, right?”

She shook her head, anxiety shadowing her features. “That one… it’s tricky. I couldn’t do it back there,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with embarrassment. “I try to focus, but then I get lost in… memories. I see the faces of people I’ve hurt. They taught me to use it to fight, but that’s all I know. When it really matters—” She trailed off, shame flooding her. “I’m afraid of it. Afraid I’ll lose control or that it won’t work, and someone will get hurt. Someone here.”

Logan absorbed her words in silence, realizing for the first time that her powers were not mere tools—they were landmines of pain and memory buried deep within her mind. “You’re doing more than you know just by admitting that,” he said, his voice resolute. “They wanted a weapon, not a person who understands her own limits. That’s why it’s so damn hard for you to use your powers on your own terms.”

She nodded, a hint of relief breaking through her anxiety. “It’s just… hard when I don’t know what I’m supposed to be capable of without feeling like I’m back there.”

Logan rubbed his face, recalling Hank’s words from earlier. “Look, the way I see it, we’re not here to make you into what they wanted. We’re here to help you find a way to control this for you. So for now, let’s focus on things that don’t pull you back into that place, alright?”

Eva met his gaze, a blend of doubt and hope dancing in her eyes. “Okay… I can try.”

“Good. Let’s start with the basics of your healing,” he suggested. “We’ll build up slowly. I’ll help you as best I can, even if I don’t have all the answers.” He shifted his weight, glancing over at her. “I’m not perfect, kid, but I won’t quit on you.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, and Logan felt something ease inside himself, too. They still had a long way to go, but the flicker of trust growing between them felt significant. Maybe—just maybe—that bond would be enough to help her regain a sense of control, one step at a time.

They stood in the quiet of the training room, the usual intensity dialed down to something softer and more deliberate. Logan observed Eva, noting her quiet tension and the way she braced herself as if anticipating pain.

“Alright,” he said, his voice steady. “Let’s start with the healing. But this time, we’re doing it differently. No pushing, no forcing yourself past what you’re ready for. First rule: if it’s too much, you say no. Got it?”

Eva looked at him, surprise flickering in her eyes before she nodded hesitantly. “But… if someone’s really hurt, shouldn’t I try?”

Logan held up a hand to stop her. “You should do what’s right for you first. You’ve been asked to give too much of yourself for too long, and that has to change.” He softened his tone, almost awkwardly, not accustomed to offering this kind of patience. “If healing someone is going to tear you apart, you have the right to say no. It doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human.”

She absorbed this slowly, trying to let it settle. No one had ever framed her power in terms of her own boundaries. It had always been about whether she could do it or if she had failed. This was the first time she was hearing there was a middle ground.

Logan nodded as she processed his words. “Good. Now, let’s get a sense of what feels manageable for you. Start small. You don’t have to do much—just focus on what you can do without hurting yourself.”

He extended his arm, exposing a fresh gash across his forearm, inflicted during training. Usually, he’d let his body heal on its own, quick to recover even from serious injuries. But today, he let his healing stop, inviting her to take over.

“Alright,” he murmured, nodding for Eva to begin. “But remember, you don’t push yourself for anyone. Not even me.”

Eva nodded, though uncertainty lingered in her gaze. Her hands trembled as they reached toward him. Slowly, she laid her fingers over the wound, her skin barely brushing his. She focused on finding her center as he’d instructed. The familiar surge of her power ignited beneath her skin—warm and comforting—but this time she held it steady, allowing the energy to flow through her hands and into him rather than rushing forward. A faint glow enveloped her hands, and Logan could feel the tingling warmth threading into the wound, mending tissue bit by bit. It was delicate and almost hesitant, but with each passing second, the pain subsided in measured waves, leaving a strange calm behind.

“That’s it,” Logan encouraged, his voice a low rumble. “Take your time.”

Her breaths grew deeper and steadier as her focus sharpened. For the first time, she felt a quiet control over her power, a sense of healing without the usual overwhelming drain on her own life force. She met his gaze for a fleeting second, surprise lighting up her eyes. In that moment, he saw the faintest glimmer of pride—a glimmer he’d never witnessed before.

“That’s good,” he said softly, even as the gash slowly sealed under her touch. “Keep it right there.”

When the healing was complete, Eva lifted her hands, her gaze lingering on the closed wound as if she could hardly believe it was real. She swayed slightly, not from pain or strain, but from a quiet sense of awe. Looking up at Logan, her eyes widened with wonder as she realized she’d done it. She looked at her arm, sure, she felt the wound on it while she healed him, but it was already healing on itself. Apparently, the smaller the wound the quicker she was healing as well. That was new and fascinating. 

“See?” he said, a rare warmth edging his words. “You’re stronger than you think. You just have to believe in that strength and protect it.”

Eva held his gaze, feeling something shift deep within her—a sense of validation she hadn’t felt in years. She took a step back, her hand still warm, that warmth grounding her in a way she didn’t fully understand but appreciated deeply.

When Logan spoke again, his voice was steady and sincere. “Now, I want you to remember what that felt like. You don’t have to bleed yourself dry to help others. Your strength isn’t just in the healing itself; it’s in knowing your limits. You deserve that control.”

Eva let those words settle within her, surprised at how they reshaped her understanding of her power. It wasn’t about sacrifice—it was about balance.

They practiced like this for a while, keeping everything gentle and within her control. The experience was new and oddly grounding; she realized that healing didn’t have to mean self-sacrifice. It was the first time she felt some agency over her powers. Logan noticed the change in her posture, the way she began to stand a little taller, and he knew they were on the right track.

After a while, Logan gave her a small nod, contemplating their next steps. “I also want to talk about that other power of yours—the touch thing. You mentioned you can feel people’s emotions?”

Eva nodded shyly. “Yes, but… it’s not always easy to control. It’s like I open up too much, and then I can’t close myself off again. Sometimes it feels like it’s swallowing me.”

Logan’s gaze softened, the usual gruffness giving way to something almost gentle. “Alright. This isn’t about powering through. It’s about getting to know yourself first and finding what grounds you so you don’t get swept up in everyone else’s feelings.” He gave her a small nod. “Hank’s been in my ear about this. He says you have to know what calms you down. So, before we train anything, let’s focus on that.”

Eva looked surprised, unaccustomed to having her own needs prioritized. “I… I’m not sure. I’ve never really thought about what calms me.”

Logan offered a reassuring nod. “That’s alright. Start simple—tell me about what you like. What have you enjoyed doing since you got here? Ororo mentioned you’ve been working on your reading. Any chance you’d read something for me?”

Eva looked up, startled, color rising in her cheeks. “I... I only have a few books in my room,” she replied, almost apologetically. “Children’s books mostly. I’m still… learning.”

Logan’s face softened, sensing her embarrassment. “Good,” he said, a faint, genuine smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. “Haven’t read a kid’s book in years. I think it’s about time I catch up.”

Hesitating, Eva studied him to see if he was serious. His expression was patient, without a hint of mockery. She nodded, a small smile escaping as she turned to leave the training room, hurrying to her quarters. A few moments later, she returned, clutching a slim, brightly illustrated book.

She glanced down at the cover, brushing her thumb across it as if smoothing out her nerves. “This one’s called The Giving Tree. It’s… simple.”

Logan nodded, undeterred. “Simple’s fine. Let’s hear it.”

She opened the book carefully, her fingers steadying against the pages, and began to read. Her voice was quiet at first, tentative, but the words soon flowed as she warmed to the rhythm of the story. Logan listened intently, his expression softening, a rare gentleness in his gaze as she read each line with careful, almost reverent attention.

Somewhere in the middle of her reading, Logan found himself drawn in—not just by the story itself, but by her unguarded effort. She had spent so much time locked away in fear and uncertainty. But now, with every sentence, he glimpsed someone discovering something simple and beautiful within herself, even if it was through the words of a children’s book.

As she finished the final page, Eva glanced up, searching his face for any trace of amusement or impatience. But what she found was Logan’s soft smile, a quiet awe in his expression.

“Thanks for that,” he said. “That book… it was worth the read.”

Eva blinked in surprise, smiling back. The moment felt like a small, unexpected gift. For Logan, seeing her like that—shy, sincere, open, and human—was worth more than he could have anticipated.

[yanderejustforyou]

Thread of Doubt

Summary:

“Don’t lie to me,” Sam said, his voice suddenly cold, sharp. “I know something’s wrong. What did you do?” Dean’s face fell, his mask of control slipping just enough for Sam to see the truth in his eyes—the rawness, the desperation.

The bunker was enveloped in an unsettling stillness that gnawed at Sam's core, an uncomfortable reminder of his recent brush with death. It was almost as if the very walls around him held their breath, the tranquility too serene to be real. The customary sounds of his surroundings—the rhythmic hum of the aging pipes, the occasional creak of the floorboards that had borne witness to countless secrets, and the faint rustle of paper that had accumulated over time—failed to pacify the growing storm in his heart. Each sound seemed amplified in the silence, a cruel reminder of the struggles still lurking just beyond his awareness. An oppressive discomfort lay heavy in his chest, wrapping around him like a shroud.

Days had dragged into an agonizing monotony since the trials had gone awry. In those fleeting moments of chaos, he had narrowly evaded death’s cold grasp, but the aftermath of that failure was far from harmless. His body bore the aftermath of the ritual in aching fits, the pain a constant reminder of how close he had come to sealing the gates of Hell, only to have it elude him at the last crucial moment. Each pulse of discomfort sent painful reminders through him; it was as if his injuries were intertwined with his very essence, a scar left not just on his flesh but on his spirit as well.

In the dim corners of the bunker, where secrets and shadows danced, Sam grappled with the remnants of a reality that felt cruelly altered. He found himself trapped in an unsettling limbo. Dean had made it his mission to care for him, a role he had always embodied, yet the intensity with which he clung to Sam felt unsettling now, shifting from protective to suffocating. Dean was like a specter in the bunker, moving imperceptibly through the shadows, his presence both a comfort and a weight.

At first, Sam had welcomed Dean’s attentiveness. The touch of a brother who had always considered him a fragile treasure had felt like a shield. But now, with every lingering caress, every prolonged gaze, it felt as though Dean was trying to fix something beyond mere physical wounds. Sam could feel the anxiety radiating off him like heat from a fire, fraying at the edges of his composure. The very essence of Dean was shifting, sending waves of panic brewing deep within Sam.

It wasn't solely the physical agony that tormented him; it was the nebulous sensation that something darker lurked beneath the surface of Dean's concern. A chilling unease stole through him, as insidious as the pain he felt radiating from his chest. Each time Dean hovered nearby, asking if he needed anything or brushing his fingers against Sam's skin with gentle restraint, Sam felt something inside him twist uncomfortably. This wasn’t the Dean he knew. There was a difference in the fabric of his brother’s worry, an undercurrent of fear that seemed to bind them together in ways Sam didn’t fully comprehend.

Dean’s eyes were often clouded with barely concealed terror, flinching as if Sam might simply vanish into thin air. Those moments were unsettling—a silent plea etched into Dean’s features as if Sam's every attempt to forge ahead made the possibility of loss that much more profound.

Initially, Sam had chalked it up to fever-induced hallucinations or the relentless barrage of medications intended to keep him on the cusp of recovery. But the sensation of unease did not fade as the days passed. It only solidified, anchoring itself further into his bones like a chilling specter he couldn't escape.

Lying in the dimly lit room of the bunker, Sam let out a weary groan as he shifted in bed. The oppressive weight of his pain surged higher with each movement, but he refused to let it keep him imprisoned beneath the covers. He was not a fragile being; he was a fighter, and he demanded more from himself than this perceived weakness. He needed answers, clarity on this swirling chaos within him that threatened to unravel his very being.

The soft creaking of the door heralded Dean’s entrance. He seemed less a man and more an embodiment of anxious energy as he stepped into the room, the very atmosphere shifting with his presence. Sam couldn’t pinpoint the look etched across his brother’s face—was it worry, guilt, or something deeper, something that hinted at unspoken fears?

“How’re you feeling?” Dean’s voice was a gentle murmur, yet it carried an undercurrent of fretted urgency. He remained fixed at the doorway, maintaining distance, as though afraid to close the gap between them.

“Fine. Just tired,” Sam replied tersely, the lie lodged uncomfortably in his throat. He could feel the sourness of it on his tongue, a bitter reminder of the truths that remained nestled beneath his skin.

Dean’s piercing gaze did not falter; it pinned Sam in place with unyielding intensity. “You sure?”

Sam’s scrutiny matched his brother's. The tension hung thick in the air as he probed, “You’re not telling me something, Dean.” His voice was steadier than he felt inside; beneath the surface, his heart pounded, nerves flaring to life like firecrackers, yet he withheld the tremors of uncertainty he felt deep in his core.

Dean bristled, the air between them crackling with an unsettling energy. “What do you mean?” His question held a note of defensiveness that only deepened Sam's suspicions.

“You’re acting weird,” Sam pressed on, his voice wavering slightly but resolute in its determination. “You know it. I know it.” He sought the truth hidden in Dean’s eyes, the darkness he knew had birthed from his brother's unyielding desire to protect him.

A flicker of something crossed Dean’s features—was it guilt? Darkness? Sam couldn't decipher the complexity of emotions swirling within those expressive green depths. In that moment, he felt powerless, and the weight of uncertainty bore down upon him like a dark blanket.

“I’m just trying to take care of you, Sam,” Dean replied, words strained as if forcing themselves through a dam of emotion. “After what happened, I—” The words faltered, leaving a gaping abyss of unspoken fears hanging between them. “I can’t lose you. I can’t,” he finished, anguish rippling beneath the surface.

Sam’s heart lurched painfully, but the unease within him swelled, morphing into a tempest. “But you’re not just taking care of me, Dean. You’re suffocating me. I can’t breathe. You’re keeping me here, like a prisoner trapped in my own body.”

The realization of that imprisonment struck like lightning, illuminating the truth in stark clarity. Dean’s stoic demeanor shifted into a fierce resoluteness, taking a determined step forward. But Sam raised a trembling hand, halting him mid-approach.

“Don’t lie to me,” Sam uttered, each word sharp and cold, cutting through the haze of tension. “I know something’s wrong. What did you do?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sam's heart raced as he saw the facade of control fracture in Dean's expression, revealing a rawness that gripped Sam’s soul with panic.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you die, Sam.” Dean's voice trembled, his hand aching to close the distance but instead left hanging in the air, filled with the magnetic tension of unspoken truth. “I would’ve done anything to save you. You mean everything to me.”

The weight of his words struck Sam, a tank of confusion and dread spilling over. He was left grappling in a tumultuous sea where his own fears intermingled with Dean’s desperate confession. “What did you do?” Sam managed to whisper, his voice trembling as he felt the ground beneath him shift violently.

Dean’s silence alone was an answer that resonated through Sam’s very being. The truth loomed like a specter, threatening to engulf them both as the haunting realization settled in. Sam’s pulse quickened as he faced the unknown, a terrifying dread lacing through.

Notes:

Please leave a comment—whether you loved it, hated it, or just want to share your thoughts, I’d love to hear from you!

[freesia-writes]

I'm lobbing this right back to your ask box, because the questions were great, and I'd love to know your answers!

Ok. So. If someone wanted to read your works…

Which do you think is your best piece and why? You can split the answer into short and long fics if you want. 😜

Which do you think is your most delicious, sexy, satisfying piece of smut?

Which do you think has the most intimate/immersive POV of a character, like really takes you in their heart and mind and makes you feel what they feel? Takes you on the ride with them?

And which one do you think everyone should read? I know, choosing one is torture. 😉😘

I should be going to bed right now but my brain is a steam engine and this train of thought is CHUGGIN. 😂 So. Since you had such amazing answers for your own...

Which do you think is your best piece and why?

Honestly... Beyond the Shadow of a Doubt, the Hunter x OC longfic that I worked on for 9+ months, because it's intricately cohesive, intentionally structured from start to finish, and amazingly enriched with fanart, mood boards, and other stuff that makes it completely immersive. I'm really proud of it. 🥹 It's got plot twists but doesn't leave the reader feeling stupid (*coughTBB*), has fully developed and very unique characters that are also relatable (I hope), and I think (and have been told, lol) that the characterization of the Batch is dead-on and their family dynamics are absolutely delightful. It feels weird to speak freely about its strengths, but we should be able to do that without it being braggy. So, it's amazing in a lot of areas and definitely needs work in others (like me, ha).

Which do you think is your most delicious, sexy, satisfying piece of smut?

*dons monocle to consult @spicy-clones master list*

Shoot, I guess I have to say Sharp Edges, the Crosshair x Reader longfic I wrote with @lightwise. There are quite a few smut scenes, but what makes it fantastic is that it starts off hot and shallow, then evolves and deepens in areas beyond just the physical to lead to a really satisfying climax (hahaha). And it's a really good story -- after all, when you get two author brains on a project, it's that much better! Tons of character development, funny dialogue, and an excellent fix-it ending. 😉

Which do you think has the most intimate/immersive POV of a character, like really takes you in their heart and mind and makes you feel what they feel? Takes you on the ride with them?

I guess I'm gonna be really redundant here... The Hunter one, because readers experience the story through his eyes (where other works are from a reader, OC, or omniscient POV). So they were hopefully just as surprised as he was at sudden plot twists, but I also tried to add just enough detail and subtle lil winks to the reader to "let them in" on some of the secrets so that they could feel shrewd and insightful without just having it all out there plainly so Hunter's the only one and the rest of us are rolling our eyes and smacking our foreheads at him the whole time. 😜 I mean, there was some of that too. 😂

And which one do you think everyone should read?

If the two pitches above for Beyond the Shadow of a Doubt didn't seal the deal, then that one is lost beyond redemption. 😜 So I have two shorties...

This Pets 4 Vets story featuring Jesse is long enough to create some chemistry, have some funny ups and downs, and enjoy a satisfying connection at the end (and some hot bangin' in the bonus chapter, LOL). I love the trope of being let in by someone who hides behind a front and this one was really enjoyable that way.

And lastly, this Tup x Reader keeps coming to mind. Idk why, but it's playful, awkward, satisfying, and sweet. The dialogue prompt was "Don't ever do that again! ...you have no idea what it does to me." And it involves his hair, surprise surprise. 😉 PLUS, I love writing "the boys", whether it's the Batch or the 501st, cause those dynamics seem to really enrich the whole thing.

Thanks for letting me ramble. 💕

AND FOR ANYONE ELSE READING, hahah, I feel like I write almost the same trope over and over, so if you have some requests that you'd like to hear in my style, but are different in content than my usual stuff, drop em in my asks!

[pinkeoni]

Figuring Out Lonnie’s Whole Deal

(Or, assembling a timeline of pre-show events inspired by a culmination of theories centering around one Lonnie Byers)

After spending much time deliberating and theorizing, I’ve come to what I believe is a solid timeline of events relating to Lonnie Byers grounded in evidence from the show.

Now I don’t have all of the pieces, but also if I had all of the pieces then I wouldn’t need to be theorizing in the first place. Still, I’m fairly confident in my assessment. Maybe it would be wise of me to wait for The First Shadow to come out to give me more information, but for all intents and purposes of this I will only be looking at evidence within the text of the show. So no cast or crew comments, no supplemental materials, and as much as I love it, no speculation regarding TFS. Still, I think the show has enough evidence to support my assertion.

Things to establish:

A lot of what I’m about to talk about comes from a basis of these three things—

1. Will and El’s storylines mirror each other, which I charted out here. Their stories share a lot of differences, and a lot of similarities.

2. Powers are being used in this show to explore themes of sexuality through a sci-fi/supernatural lens. I talk about this in length here, but tl;dr El’s powers are used to explore the exploitation and reclamation of female sexuality, and Will’s powers are being used to show the demonization and repression of homosexuality.

3. Oh yeah, and Will has powers, by the way.

Surface Level Information We Are Given About Lonnie Byers:

It might be best to have a refresher of what we know about Lonnie Byers. Most of this comes from season one and all of it is displayed directly to the audience—

Lonnie is the absentee father of Jonathan and Will and ex-husband of Joyce

He left his family at an unspecified date that led Jonathan and Will to build Castle Byers the night of

He currently lives in Indianapolis

He used to call Will homophobic slurs

Joyce once argued with him about not showing up to a visitation with Will

Jonathan and Joyce do not speak of him fondly. Will’s feelings are unclear but seem positive “It’s fun to go with him sometimes”

Expressed interest in wanting to see Jonathan more

Referred to Joyce as “babe” despite being apart and having another girlfriend

Did not take Joyce’s calls to his house

Doubted Joyce, took down her Christmas lights and tried to repair the hole in the wall

Has unspecified debts

Likes to fix cars

Doesn’t like cops

Tried to use his “dead” son for lawsuit money

Was kicked out by Joyce and hasn’t been seen on screen since

Things to glean from just below the surface:

The following are things that are not stated directly, but can be easily inferred from clues given in show—

Lonnie is likely an alcoholic, shown through an abundance of beer bottles littering his house. Even if he splits it between him and his tiny girlfriend, it’s still an absurd amount of beer for two people. It’s possible he may have other addictions as well.

Lonnie was likely physically abusive towards Jonathan given his “You’ve gotten stronger” comment in the house. It’s possible that the extent of his abuse could stretch far beyond that for both Jon and Will.

Will likely used to hide from his dad. Jonathan and Will built Castle Byers the night he left, which Jonathan remarks that Will likes to hide in. Not to mention the “he’s good at hiding” comment.

The rest of this post is going to be much more speculative, but it’s all speculation that is grounded in what we see on and just below the surface.

Theory #1) Lonnie was involved with MK-ULTRA

This was an idea that I tossed around a while ago, that after spending time with and finding new evidence I’ve now grown more confident in.

Most of this confidence comes from this conversation between Becky and Jopper. Becky tells Hop that him and Terry would have gotten along, as Terry didn’t like authority or the government— “The Man , with a big capital M.” (which is ironic given Hopper is a cop)

When discussing who was involved with MK-ULTRA, Becky mentions “people like [Terry]”

So people like Terry, who maybe don’t like authority as was just mentioned?

It seems as though the Byers have always been down on their luck in terms of finance. Would it be hard to believe that, especially given the close proximity of the lab to the Byers house and Lonnie's willingness to get money in the show, Lonnie might have partaken in a paid study in the past? ("You were in it for the money!")

Above I mentioned the implication that Lonnie is an alcoholic. If he was involved with a study involving hard drugs, could he have developed addiction problems through the program? Furthermore, wouldn't it also make sense for Lonnie to gain a mistrust of authority after being taken advantage of by the government?

In my initial post about it I discuss how this could be foreshadowed through Hopper’s past as well. Hopper was involved with something government related that required chemicals, something that ended up affecting his child.

Theory #2) Lonnie was working with the lab during season one

Another part of proving Lonnie’s MK-ULTRA involvement is his connection with the lab. Everything that I’m about to list could align perfectly with Lonnie simply just being a shitty ex and father, but everything that I’m about to list could also align perfectly with the idea that Lonnie was working with the lab against Joyce the entire season.

1) Lonnie’s fishiness with Joyce’s phone call

I’ve already made an entire post about this here but I’ll recap all of the important bits.

Right before we see Joyce call Lonnie in the first episode, we are shown the lab spying on her conversation explicitly. Joyce is then sent to voicemail, which given the ordering of scenes makes me wonder if the lab purposefully intercepted her call.

Joyce also never actually talks to Lonnie on the phone. Cynthia picks up until their call is disconnected, which could have been Cynthia but also could have been the lab interfering again.

When Jonathan confronts Lonnie about not returning Joyce’s call, he kind of shrugs off his answer.

Why the hesitancy at first, Lonnie?

Lonnie tells Jonathan that he’s talked to police, which is likely, but then adds a comment that makes me question if he talked to any Hawkins cops at all.

Why do you need to ask if Hopper is chief, if Hawkins police came to question you, Lonnie?

2) The timing of Lonnie showing up in Hawkins

Even after being told this his own son is missing, Lonnie does not show up in town until after—

Will’s “body” is found in the quarry

Joyce refuses to sign off on the fake body

Joyce actually speaks to and is able to see Will through the hole in the wall

The next time we see Joyce is when Lonnie pulls up that night at the Byers house. Here is what Lonnie does while he’s there:

Tells Joyce that Will is in her head

Tell Jonathan not to feed into Joyce’s “delusions”

Takes down the Xmas lights that Joyce was using to talk to Will

Covers the hole in the wall that Joyce saw Will through

Unsuccessfully tries to convince Joyce to use Will’s "death" for money

All of these actions align perfectly with Lonnie’s character, do you also see how it also aligns perfectly with Lonnie trying to purposefully cover up the truth?

We don’t see Joyce call Lonnie to come over and I highly doubt that Jonathan asked him to come. Granted, Lonnie was most likely notified by police of Will’s death, why not come right away? Why wait until after Joyce refuses to believe that it’s Will’s body and after she actually sees Will alive in her walls?

Remember that the lab had likely bugged her house as well, given the scene where Hop finds a bug in his cabin.

Think about the timing of when the lab decided to place Will’s body in the quarry and have it found, something that we know for a fact was their doing. This comes after Joyce had discovered the ability to talk to Will through the lights and right after the writing on the wall scene, when Joyce was coming closer to the truth.

If a lab personnel showed up at the Byers, took down the lights and hammered over the wall, that would obviously draw a lot of suspicion towards them. But if the lab could get someone on the inside to do it, perhaps an ex-spouse that can be easily manipulated with cash and already had connections to them, that wouldn’t raise an eyebrow.

That’s also where the lawsuit comes in. If the lab is paying off Lonnie and his family, they can’t just give them the a ton of cash directly, it would likely have to go through a third party under the guise of something else, like a legal suit. I’m willing to bet all my money that the suit Lonnie wanted to file on the Sattlers was just another cover from the lab.

Theory #3) Lonnie was trying to hand Will over to the lab

Another note about Terry, if Will and El are mirrors then Lonnie and Terry may possibly be mirrors, too. If Terry was desperate to get El out of the lab then maybe Lonnie was desperate to get Will into the lab. Also the difference between Terry's daughter being taken from her/Lonnie voluntarily leaving his own son.

Something we know about Lonnie Byers— he was homophobic towards Will and did not want to visit him after he had left.

Something else we know about Lonnie Byers— he likes to fix cars.

We have confirmation that Lonnie was trying to “fix” Will, at least in a less aggressive manner, by taking him to baseball games. Jonathan says explicitly, “He’s trying to force you to like normal things.” This line is so incredibly loaded, what Jonathan is saying below the surface is "He's trying to force you to like girls."

The above scene is in the same episode where Jonathan goes to Lonnie’s Indianapolis house, and we get a line from Lonnie about him fixing up a car.

Yes, Will is being compared to a car. Lonnie wants to fix him.

And remember, Will has powers, and powers are being used as a way to explore sexuality.

So given Lonnie’s connection with the lab from MK-ULTRA as expressed before, along with Lonnie’s hatred of Will and homophobia, along along with powers as a metaphor for Will's queerness, it leads me to believe that Lonnie was trying to cure Will of his powers through the lab. This would essentially be the supernatural version of gay conversion therapy.

I want to talk about the word “mistake”

This word is so potent and really sticks out because we haven’t really seen it used in this way on the show before. The writers could have had Will say “monster” to relate to El's arc, or they could have had him say “freak” which would not only relate to Eddie but is something that Will has called himself in the past. But instead they decide to give him a new word that is different from the labels other characters give themselves.

The word mistake is unique to Will.

What do you do with mistakes? You fix them.

I have a lot of fun with Will-being-a-lab-kid theories, and nothing but absolute love to those who make them, but after doing a lot of my own thinking I’ve since come to the conclusion that Will didn’t grow up in the lab at all, but Lonnie was making an unsuccessful effort to ship Will to the lab. Part of El and Will’s narrative mirroring is Will coming from a normal background while El does not.

Which isn’t to say that the lab didn’t want Will, I think they very much did. I’ve seen the take that Lonnie tried to hand Will to the lab but he didn’t display powers at the time so they wouldn’t take him. But do you really think that that would stop them from wanting him anyway, especially if the boys father was giving him to them willingly? Do you really think that Martin “you wouldn’t stop” Brenner was gonna turn down another child? That someone was willing to give to him?

So then, if Lonnie was willing to give Will to the lab and the lab was willing to take him, what was stopping them?

For starters, I’m guessing that the process involved in receiving a new test subject, especially one that wasn’t born into the lab, would take patience. They can’t just nab Will off the street. They would probably have to surveil things for a while, gain intel from Lonnie, and come up with a strategy.

A strategy that may involve falsifying an accident, a fake body, and the funneling of money via fake lawsuit?

I’m not saying that the lab was the ones behind Will’s disappearance, at least initially. I think the mothergate opening was completely unpredictable from their end and instead necessitated the plan to be accelerated due to sudden unforeseen circumstances, as well as taking advantage of Will’s presence in the Upside Down to try and take him for themselves.

So why wait until now? If they had an airtight plan, why not act sooner?

Could there have been an incident, perhaps, with the lab, which happened prior to Will’s disappearance, that may have delayed this process?

I’m willing to bet that a mass death event of majority of the test subjects and personnel from the place that Lonnie was trying to send Will to, might be enough to put the brakes on this operation, if not on delay for a few years so they can regroup.

While we’re here, I wanna talk about Will’s similarities to Henry Creel

The comparisons between Henry and Will aren’t something hidden under the layers for only die hard theorists to find, this is something that everyone and their mothers were discussing on twitter. The similarities were noticeable even from casual viewing.

Image via Reddit

We know from his monologue that Henry’s mother knew he had powers and wanted to send him away to a doctor, a doctor that we later learn was actual Papa Brenner.

If Will and Henry are similar, is it possible that their parents wanted similar things? The main difference being that Will actually did evade Dr. Brenner.

Furthermore, is it possible that Will has powers similar to One’s and that the lab could have been knowledgeable of this? If that is the case, it may stand to reason that they might be hesitant to bring in someone with similar abilities to the guy who just killed a bunch of people.

I used to think that Will and Henry had to have completely different sets of powers, and while I do think that Will may have abilities unique to himself, given how they are compared I do think that Will may have similar powers to him. In fact, we may have already seen Will display a traveling into the mind ability in season one.

Theory #3.5) Lonnie’s departure correlates with the Hawkins Lab massacre

If Lonnie was desperate to get rid of the son he hates, and then was told that there was an unexpected delay, it would make sense for him to give up and leave town.

There’s been comments from cast and crew in the past regarding when exactly Lonnie left, but it’s never been confirmed in show.

Evidence for why I think it coincides with the massacre actually comes from the shed scene.

Joyce first mentions Will’s eighth birthday, which would have been in March of 1979. The massacre was in September of 1979.

Mentioning his eighth birthday specifically places emphasis on that age. Jonathan then follows Joyce by talking about the night dad left.

We don’t get an exact timeframe or age, but the fact that this follows the story if Will’s eighth birthday does create a correlation with that age. We then switch timeframes when Mike brings up kindergarten.

Think about it, if their dad had left when Will was eight, bringing up his age again would be redundant because Joyce just mentioned it. Mike mentions kindergarten to let us know that this is a different time and age that we’re talking about.

Let’s talk about Lonnie’s debts

What exactly these debts are that Joyce brings up is never specified. And it could be anything. Maybe a loan he took out, drug or gambling debts, since nothing is stated it’s all possible. But here’s my take:

Will is Lonnie’s debt. That’s what he owes.

Remember that the exact way that Lonnie was going to pay back these debts was with Will. He is linked with this debt conversation.

It is Joyce who brings up the debt, but since she doesn’t specify there’s a reasonable doubt that she herself doesn’t know the specifics. She could know that Lonnie is indebted to someone but not know what/could have been lied to.

I’m imagining the lab giving Lonnie some kind of advanced payment for Will, with the promise that they’ll eventually have him. It would be a way for the lab to control Lonnie. He now owes them, and the lab expects to collect their debts. Despite the lab and Lonnie having similar goals, there is definitely a power imbalance.

Lonnie does want a family, just not one with Will in it

More thorough post here, but in season one we get indications in Lonnie's dialogue that he does want to be around his family, like expressing interest in seeing Jonathan more and calling Joyce "babe," which seems to contradict him living in another town, or hell even leaving his family at all.

When Joyce gets mad with Lonnie over the phone about not coming to visit, it was specifically a Will visitation day. It's seeming more and more that Lonnie's departure is centered on Will. (Which doesn't take away from any of the potential abuse he hurled at Jonathan or Joyce. He doesn't care about their interests, only his. Furthermore, I'm not placing blame onto Will for Lonnie's absence. That is all Lonnie's doing)

Am I saying that Lonnie has powers?

Well, maybe.

That is something that I’ve been wondering if Lonnie had powers, which granted is something that relied heavily on speculation regarding TFS which I said I wanted to stay away from for this post. Since I don’t have all the pieces yet, I want to consider as many options as possible.

Option A) Lonnie was born with powers, and MK-ULTRA was simply how he became acquainted with the lab/his powers were repressed and MK-ULTRA activated them

Option B) Lonnie received powers from MK-ULTRA and passed it on to Will

Option C) Lonnie was not born with powers nor received powers from MK-ULTRA but it did give him super-powered sperm

May I remind you of Lonnie's comparison to Terry from earlier in the post, and the fact that Terry herself does have powers.

I oftentimes see the theory that Joyce herself has powers, and I myself even theorized that her Aunt Darlene may have had powers. However I'm more inclined to believe that Joyce is a carrier of this gene rather than having powers herself. Most of the evidence used to suggest that she has powers comes from Joyce reacting to what Will is showing her. There's also no indication that Jonathan has any powers.

If Lonnie participated in MK-ULTRA after Jonathan was born, then it could explain why Will would have powers and not Jonathan. Moreover, having both a mother who is a carrier and a father with powers/nuked balls would likely have a higher chance of having a powered child. (That's how genetics work, right? Please forgive me if my science is wrong.)

Notes on Lonnie's character

You'll note that there are multiple times in this post where I acknowledge that I lot of Lonnie's actions are explainable because of his identity as a shitty guy, and maybe that's all this is. However, I want to explain why having this type of character is actually perfect for a reveal like this.

In order to pull off a successful reveal, you have to hide the truth while also giving enough information so it doesn't come out of nowhere. Lonnie's personality allows for the truth to be hidden in plain sight.

Let's say that Lonnie was actually an upstanding man. Jonathan and Joyce both had fond memories of him, but he left in the past for some unknown reason. Lonnie was always a great husband, but for some reason he's doubting Joyce and taking down her Christmas lights even when she asks him not to.

Do you see how that would create a huge plot hole? How season one would feel incomplete? How it would create a giant unanswered question that needs answering?

Why didn't Joyce know about any of this?

Unfortunately we are told pretty explicitly in season one as to why something like this could have been happening under Joyce's nose. We are told in the first episode that Joyce works long hours, leaving early in the morning and not coming home until later in the night. Jonathan is expected to get Will up, make breakfast, and take him to school. My guess is that Lonnie may have been in charge of such tasks when he was still home.

If Lonnie was, say, taking Will to the lab for some preliminary tests or meetings, he could have easily done this while Joyce was at work or while Jonathan was in school.

We even hear from Joyce herself that she hasn't been keeping up with Jonathan, she isn't in the know how with her sons. (This is not me calling Joyce a bad mother btw, this is definitely a symptom of capitalism rather than bad parenting.)

Why doesn't Will say anything?

If Will was being taken to the lab for appointments in the past, wouldn't he say something about it? Especially to El, who grew up in the lab?

Well, there's a chance that Will doesn't remember this.

Longer post here, but we are given a scene in season four where Will expresses not remembering something from his childhood very well.

Which I could write off as Will being too little to remember this small detail, but this is also coming from the same season where we just got an entire plot line about memories from El's past being erased. (El who, as I stated in the beginning, has a storyline that mirrors Will's)

The Final Timeline

Tl;dr, or, the timeline written out chronologically:

Lonnie marries Joyce and has Jonathan. Jonathan is born without powers

Lonnie becomes involved with MK-ULTRA sometime prior to Will's birth as a way to make money

Joyce and Lonnie have Will, who was born with powers

When Will is very young Lonnie knows that he has powers

Lonnie begins taking Will to the lab in hopes of curing him

Lonnie and the lab strike a deal that involve taking Will in exchange for money

There is a plan to take Will involving a fake accident. Lonnie will file a fake lawsuit in order to exchange the money and avoid suspicion

The Hawkins Lab massacre happens and the plan is delayed

Lonnie leaves

Mothergate is opened by El and Will is taken

Upon realizing that Will is in the Upside Down, the plan moves forward with Lonnie in on it

Things don't go as expected and Joyce is on to Will being alive, so the lab asks Lonnie to come home in order to help with coverup

Joyce is infuriated about the lawsuit and kicks Lonnie out

The rest of the season follows as we see on screen and the labs plan unravels, some of the personnel is killed by El and the demogorgon in the school

[childotkw]

Um, not sure if you've been asked this before (I could've sworn that at one point you had, but i can't for the life of me find the post) but do you have any thoughts about genderbent Regulus Black?

I can see there being a much more different sibling dynamic between them and Sirius as there isn't an heir and backup dynamic with Walburga and Orion no doubt seeing Regulus as a tool to be married off. Not to mention they'd be much more strict with Sirius without a backup heir to replace him.

Not to mention it would be interesting if Tom saw Regulus as a chance to better win the loyalty of the pureblood community, after all having a bride from one of the most prestigious pureblood families would raise his standing by a lot.

I absolutely love your female Harry AU's especially "I pray(death parts us)" and "Serpent In These Still Waters ", and I love the marriage dynamic between Tom and Harry.

However I do wonder about the arranged marriage dynamic that Tom could have. Especially with someone who was born into the world of pureblood politics.

No pressure obviously to answer if you're not interested, but yea I was just wondering.

Ohh yes I know the one you're talking about! I ended up with Rana Black being the fem!Regulus name - you can read the original outline here.

I do have many thoughts about it - mainly how Ran would have grown up shaped by society's expectations and how she would eventually grow to cast those expectations off.

In my idea, Rana manages to convince Orion to ship her off to Beauxbatons. Orion, because his daughter is his favourite child, agrees to do this one thing for her, despite any objections from his wife. Rana actually eventually moves permanently to France with Kreacher as her ""guardian"" (because let's be real, the wizarding world has a pretty broken view on how young children should be raised and this isn't that far out of the norm for them). So Rana misses a large portion of the bullshit that is brewing in Britain.

But...

Walburga sees, Walburga knows. In the brief instances she actually interacts with her daughter (who seemed to grow up between blinks, who turned from a slim and silent shadow of a girl into a calm and confident young woman far from her mother's influence), Walburga learns.

Rana is not some demure wife-to-be. She is a...liberationist. A young woman with incorrect and damaging opinions on what her place in the world should be. Her time in France, in that school, has warped her understanding of her duty.

So, Walburga must fix this. As the new heir to the Black legacy, Rana has a responsibility to their House. She must bring in the next generation, and she must accept her place.

Walburga looks at Narcissa, at Bellatrix, and knows she must find her daughter a husband that can curb her radical views.

She also decides, rather firmly, that it's time her daughter learns deference. Learns to bow.

Orchestrating an encounter between her daughter and the Dark Lord is easy enough. Walburga is one of the few that still sees Tom Riddle in the face of Voldemort, and that tenuous childhood connection gives her enough leverage to push her daughter into the man's space with the implied permission to teach the girl how to drop her chin.

Only...that's not what happens.

Voldemort sees Rana's spark, sees her potential and her ideas and her biting cynicism towards the structures of their society; sees the way her eyes constantly drift towards the horizon, towards France, and finds himself a little curious at this until-now unknown Black.

(Voldemort is, after all, a radical himself. Why Walburga thought he would dismiss Rana's ideals or find her foolish is beyond him.)

Marriage isn't the first or fourth or even twentieth plot he envisions with Rana Black - but eventually it does creep into his purview.

And that intrigue, the future he could see forming with everything Rana Black brings with her, is enough for him to kick things into gear.

The biggest problem - the only problem, really - is that Rana Black does not want to marry.

Anyone.

Not even the Dark Lord.

[embras-grace]

I am excited to learn more about the Order and Majiri culture as a whole (once they fix the bugged welcome party quest, I hear some folks can't access it).

This is a lot of rambling so its under a cut plus there are some plot spoilers in here.

So far, we know that Majiri choose Paths at a certain age (most likely a certain point in adulthood since Kenyatta hasn't chosen hers but, but Nai'o has) and that Path decides what you do... forever. If you change it (unless you are a solider and retire, per Ashura) or stray from your parent's Path then you're an outcast and many consider you a failure (see: Reth).

So you are basically stuck doing what your parents were doing, and their parents were doing, and face societal rejection from the majority... so it seems fair to say that Majiri society is run on a strict class system. Governors stay governors, farmers stay farmers. Some can be rich (mentions of Farming being a good Path as it can be very lucrative, but Badruu's family has been noted to be unable to pay their raised taxes). Straying from what you are meant/born to do is unforgivable... but Kenyatta is considering a Healer Path instead of Governing. Kenli even mentions he choose Farming as his Path but he was forced to go into Governing.

Some Majiri seem very happy with this though, like Najuma, who mentions her disappointment at Auni for wanting to stray from his family's Path and not learn from them. She also mentions she can't imagine human life without Paths because "how can you know you will help anyone?"

On one hand, it seems nice that some Majiri find comfort in their Paths, choosing what they want, much like choosing a college major. On the other, they can end up very unhappy or regretting their decisions, or worse, being considered a pariah.

But we ALSO know the Majiri live in a world where their government, the Order, get to burn and ban books. As we all know, no good guy in history burned or banned books. The Order says they ban Flow and magic to protect people because the humans went extinct because of something happening with Flow--but the library also mentioned shadow being/creatures which could have aided in the downfall.

But the Grimalkin aren't beholden to Flow rules due to the trade wars and, therefore, neither are humans. In fact, humans aren't banned from using magic either because they weren't around when the laws were made. Does this mean the Order will try to enforce this rule on humans without fair representation in the Council?

Is the Order representing a strict police state Majiri live under? The Order hire mercenaries (like Sifuu) when monsters are involved or work with the military (per Ashura) and some look on them very positively (Hassian) yet others are very wary (Caleri cause of her banned books the Order will burn and Elouisa being distrustful of officials in power, and for good reason, I assume).

My theory is that the Order are, 100% beyond a shadow of a doubt, the bad guys.

They ban a normal part of the world (Flow) from every being used and ban magic--while using magic themselves!

"To keep people safe" yeah right, that's what all fascist police states say. "We learn about this to protect you from it, we ban and burn books because this is too dangerous for you" what is too dangerous? Knowledge? Tamala used to be part of the Order (I don't believe her "grandmother" excuse for a second) and yes, she used them and their knowledge to make herself younger, but okay?

There would be ways to ensure Flow and magic stay well-controlled and safe without burning and banning books, encouraging the eyes of children to join the Order for some mysticism in their lives...

The Majiri to me seem like a people whose culture is very stifled and knowledge is held away from them. Not even Jina, who is a researcher, can research human Flow without potentially getting in trouble!

The Order are the bad guys. And while Paths and the like don't make Majiri society bad, it does make it very divided, especially for people like Reth.

I think Embra brought humans back to bring some honest joy back to the world. No Paths, no bans, just being pure creatures happy to be alive and without the pressures of ancient culture bearing down on them. Humans can do anything and everything! They can join every guild! Why should Majiri be able to do so, too?

I don't think humans are a "savoir" thing either, I think Paths are good and Majiri society has so many positives and its so rich in its culture... but it fails some of them. It failed Reth and Kenli, Kenyatta is feeling forced to go to Governance but will choose Healing, and its failing Auni (pressure to become a Farmer despite him wanting something more out of life) as well as Jel (his own mother hasn't accepted him into the family name yet).

I think humans are Embra's way of trying to show these people--who haven't heard from Maji (per Chayne) in hundreds of years--that the Phoenix and Dragon are still here, and they want their creations to live life to the fullest and love their world. Humans got it wrong before, but with the aid of the Majiri they can live in balance with nature and each other. And with the aid of the humans, Majiri can live in balance with themselves.

After all, you can pick one Path and stick to it... but what's the harm if you stray? Its a big world out there and people are always changing as they grow older... why not explore all your options to the fullest?

I just think the Order is the main bad guy and I don't like them.

[darcydarlingdabbles]

Let Me Be Your Light

Phantom of the Opera/Romantasy AU ~ 3.4 k

Explicit Excerpt from my ongoing fic Charlie and Vaggie explore escape the castle for the glowing gardens of Morningstar Castle, and a little time alone~

-------{--(@

Charlie led Vaggie by the hand out into the gardens as the last vestiges of the sun cast a warm, red-pink glow over Morningstar Castle. 

The hellish scarlet sky seemed to have softened just for them—though it always turned a little rosier during the sunset and sunrise. 

Which meant now was the perfect time for Charlie to take a romantic stroll with her not-girlfriend—and show her something amazing. 

Vaggie, her white hair catching the golden light, sent a speculative glance over at the princess. “Is this going to help you with your singing, hon?”

“I mean it can’t hurt, right?” Charlie grinned, her tone playful, if not a little mischievously as she swung their arms and pulled them around the glistening fountains. 

The shadows from the castle gathered on the veranda behind them, but seemed to pool and halt right at the edge of the open marble porch—unable to follow Charlie out in the garden with the last dregs of the sun still up. 

Charlie hummed happily as they strolled into her mother’s lush green garden. It was comfortable, familiar, a sanctuary with walls and barriers separating it from the chaos of the Kingdom of Hell beyond. 

“Suuuure it is,” Vaggie teased, openly flirtatious for the first time. And thrilling the princess as she stretched out her white wings and took in the warm air between her pristine feathers. 

She loved making her angel happy. Charlie just wished that they could always be like this—alone and together. Able to be who they really were, if only for a little while. 

She knew that they would have to return to the castle soon, back to the roles and scripts they were born into. but for now, she was content to simply enjoy this moment.

She squeezed Vaggie’s hand, feeling a surge of affection for the angel by her side.

“I’m so glad you’re here with me,” Charlie murmured, her voice barely audible over the rustling of the leaves.

 Vaggie looked up at her, her eyes finally softened “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” she replied, leaning in.

Charlie wanted to kiss her angel then and there, right now. But she felt the unease as she leaned close. Vaggie’s gaze darted towards the castle doors, still in view around the fountain. 

No doubt thinking about her fellow angelic guards they passed on their way outside. 

Charlie settled for pressing a sweet kiss to the back of her hand, and pulling her further into the garden. 

The princess’s excitement was palpable, and she practically bounced on the balls of her feet as she led Vaggie towards a hidden corner of the green space.

“I know you’re probably wondering why I dragged you out here,” Charlie said, giggled.

“You didn’t have to drag me.” Vaggie protested. 

“But trust me, you’re going to love it.” 

Vaggie raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

As they rounded a corner, Charlie came to a sudden stop. Vaggie nearly collided with her, but just ended up brushing up against her crimson skirt. 

Charlie’s eyes were fixed on something in front of them, and the angel quickly followed her gaze.

Nestled within a tranquil glade was an awe-inspiring sight—a topiary, meticulously crafted to resemble the beautiful Queen Lilith. The evergreen figure stood tall, her figure lovingly carved from living leaves, her lush hair etched in verdant foliage cascading down her back. 

Even more enchanting, was the radiant light that surrounded Lilith. A warm, golden aura emanated from within its leafy veins, casting an ethereal glow that bathed the entire clearing in an otherworldly light.

Charlie knew that was what her father had created. That he had trapped some of his glowing angelic orbs inside the image of his beloved wife. So she would shine forever. 

“She’s beautiful,” Vaggie breathed, her strong voice gone soft with awe. “This is your mother?”

Charlie beamed. 

“Yeah, it is! It was my idea to make it, and it enchant it so it’s always in full bloom.” The princess looked up at the image of the first Queen of Hell, her own eyes starting to get a bit misty. “It’ll never fade or wither away, no matter what time of year it is.”

“Oh Charlie, that’s beautiful.” Vaggie murmured. 

“Yeah, she really was.” the princess murmured, filling her eyes well up as she looked up at her mother’s enchanted image. 

It felt so lifelike, and yet so still. Never to change again. It filled her with a heady cocktail of emotions—pride and sadness. But more than anything, there was this longing ache for her mother. 

Like the memories from seven years ago had already faded far too quickly. 

A frown drew across Vaggie’s lips as she pulled the other closer. 

“It’s okay, Charlie,” she whispered, her breath warm against the princess’s ear. “I’m here for you.”

And finally, finally, Charlie felt the angel’s warm arms slipping around her middle. Pulling her in close. Her wing just starting to drape over the half-demon’s shoulder. 

Charlie leaned into the hug, feeling the softness of Vaggie’s white and gold feathers against her cheek.

“I just miss her so much,” Charlie said, her voice choked with emotion. “It’s hard to believe she’s really gone.”

Vaggie squeezed her tighter, her wings enveloping Charlie in a protective cocoon. “I know it’s hard,” she said. “But she’s still with you, in a way. She’s a part of you, and she always will be.”

 She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the garden around them: the rich earthiness of the autumn leaves, the sweetness of the roses, the faint metallic tang of the castle’s distant fires. It was a comforting smell, one that reminded her of home.

The blonde turned and pressed close to her companion, resting her chin against the top of Vaggie’s head. “I’m so glad you’re here with me.” She repeated, her voice turning low and heated as she murmured against the other’s ear. 

Vaggie gave a giggle, turning her head towards the princess. “You said that already, hon.” She teased lightly, turning towards the other woman. 

“I just wanted to emphasize that—”

Vaggie cut Charlie off by finally pressing their lips together. She cupped the younger’s cheek, pulling her in close to sweeten the kiss. 

 Charlie’s eyes fluttered closed, and she felt a wave of pure happiness wash over her. This sense of belonging, of something that was so right despite all the walls between them. And as she kissed Vaggie, she knew that she never wanted to let her go.

Vaggie’s wings fluttered around them, creating a soft, feathery cocoon that blocked out the rest of the world. 

Charlie’s heart raced as her hands wandered over the stiff fabric of Vaggie’s soldier jacket, her fingers itching to undo the golden ties and fastens and feel the soft blouse and skin underneath. 

But….someone from the castle could still wander their way, and catch them. 

Suddenly Vaggie grabbed Charlie’s shoulders, pushing her back to separate their lips. “What was that?” She asked, eyes narrowed as she peeked out between her feathers.

The princess pulled back, looking around, but all she saw was that the sky above them had turned from its deep pink to a dark, reddish purple. Hinting at the first sparkling stars. 

“I thought I saw…some sort of shadow.” Vaggie murmured, her lips pressed tight in a frown as she lowered her wings to have a better look around. 

“It’s just a guard, I’m sure,” Charlie said, trying to reassure Vaggie. “We’re safe.”

Vaggie gave an unconvinced grunt, her grip on Charlie tightening. “I’m not sure,” she said, her voice laced with concern. “Stay close to me.”

Charlie nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel Vaggie’s wings expanding slightly, ready to take flight if necessary. 

But nothing manifested from the growing darkness. 

“Come on,” Charlie urged, taking the angel’s hand in hers. “Let’s keep exploring—I want to show you one more thing.”

Vaggie stayed still as a sentinel statue for a long moment, before he nodded. “Lead the way.”

-------{--(@

“You’re going to love this,” Charlie trilled with purest excitement. 

Unfolding before them was an enchanting secret sanctuary, veiled from prying eyes by a towering hedge of thickly woven ivy leaves, their glossy surfaces shimmering in the dark purple night. 

The plants were not ordinary greenery but living lanterns that painted the night with their soft glow. There were tall stalks of moonlit ferns standing like sentinels on either side of the path, their fronds unfurling into delicate lacework patterns that glittered with a supernatural silver sheen.

Clusters of midnight roses lined the edges of the path, their dark petals brushed with strokes of starlight, casting a gentle sapphire radiance that danced upon Vaggie’s awestruck face. 

Between these spectral beauties were beds filled with bioluminescent lilies and irises. Their vibrant hues were amplified by their inherent glow—purples so deep they mirrored the twilight sky and blues so bright they rivalled the ocean’s depth on a sunny day. At least, so Charlie had seen in her father’s old story books. 

A carpet of luminescent moss spread across patches on the ground; it was like walking over constellations trapped beneath your feet, each step sending ripples of light across the verdant canvas. 

The entire garden was bathed in a soft, bioluminescent glow, a living tapestry of light and color that transformed the night into a celestial dreamscape.

“Wow,” Vaggie breathed, her eyes wide with wonder. “This is amazing.”

Charlie grinned, pleased with her companion’s reaction. “I discovered it a few weeks ago,” she said, her voice filled with pride. “I come here sometimes to escape the castle and clear my head. Politics is exhausting sometimes.”

As they walked through the garden, hand in hand, Charlie felt a sense of peace settle over her.

She glanced over at Vaggie, who was smiling up at her 

“Thank you for showing me this,” the angel hummed. 

Charlie’s smile grew wider. “I’d do anything for you,” she said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Vaggie’s lips.

“Anything, huh?” the angel guard teased into the kiss. 

The glow of the bioluminescent plants seemed to cast a spell over the two, a secrecy that pulsed with anticipation. 

A surge of desire welled up in the Princess as their lips met again, kisses turning feverish as she felt her own heartbeat quicken in time with Vaggie’s. 

The subtle rustle of feathers cocooned back around them, closing Charlie in the warmth radiating from the angelic soldier in her arms. Until the world around them, outside of the glowing garden, faded to nothing.

Her fingers slid down the front of the uniform, undoing the jacket, as the pristine feathers turned fluffy—with arousal. 

Charlie practically jumped into Vaggie’s arms. Sending them both tumbling over into the starry moss beside the midnight roses, both laughing as they fell. 

“Charlie!” Vaggie tried to admonish, but it was ruined by her musical laugh. 

“Whaat?”

Without breaking the intimate embrace, the half-demon lifted herself to straddle the angel’s hips. Her hands came to grip the dress bunched at the princess’s thighs as Vaggie eagerly leaned up into another kiss. 

Slowly, Charlie eased open the uniform jacket, revealing the ruffled white blouse she wore as she trailed kisses along the gray skin of her companion’s neck. Feeling the divine pulse fluttering underneath. 

The princess dragged her tongue along the purplish vein, feeling the edge of her horns wanting to peek out from her blonde hair as she dragged the loose collar of Vaggie’s shirt away from her breast. 

“Charlie…” 

Her name sounded like music on the angel’s tongue. 

Vaggie’s fingers slipped into Charlie’s hair, making the princess have to focus on pulling back her horns as she dropped her mouth to her companion’s chest. Her forked tongue lavished attention on the dark grey nipple, working it taught as the angel squirmed beneath her in the soft grass. 

Which just made her want to give more attention to the other side of her chest. 

“Charlie, please.” Vaggie whined, her back arching off of the moss and pressing more into that sinful mouth. “Let me touch you.”

“You can always touch me,” She hummed, though she refused to let up. 

Charlie felt it the moment Vaggie’s fingers found their way under her hitched skirt, clawing at her lacy under garments. 

The princess was already soaked—she had been from that first heated kiss. She’d missed her girlfriend so damn much. It didn’t matter that Vaggie was stationed in Hell—the few days she returned to Heaven durning the equinox were always too long. 

Vaggie dug her heels into the grass, pulling Charlie into her with her puffed up wings, finally getting into her undeerthings. 

“Vaggie,” Charlie moaned breathlessly as fingers finally touched her, just brushing over her clit before sliding inside her. Making her shiver with desperate need. 

They knew each other well now. Had spent countless nights in the Princess’s chambers exploring each other, loving each fluffed up feather and Charlie’s eagerly flicking tail. 

But now wasn’t the time for hours and hours of adoring. 

Charlie’s fingers fumbled with the buttons on Vaggie’s slacks, even as she rocked her hips onto the angel’s curling digits, desperately grinding into her palm. 

“Honey, let me—”

“Please,  don’t stop.” Charlie begged, her eyes cloudy with her pleasure, chasing desperately as the heel of Vaggie’s hand rubbed against her clit. 

The half-demon’s tail slashed out behind her. Colliding harmlessly with the wings surrounding her. 

Charlie tried again, nearly tearing at the white pants, desperate to feel her, to please her beloved companion too. When Vaggie lifted herself from the ground, and pushed the princess over into the grass. 

The laugh bubbling from the blonde’s lips before Vaggie’s mouth was back on hers, tasting her tongue as her hand was back under Charlie’s skirts. Pushing her pale thighs open as she pinned her to the ground. 

Vaggie was never this…assertive. And Charlie trembled eagerly under her, tugging at her short hair as she took everything the angel gave. 

Those heavenly fingers curled back into her pussy, driving her closer and closer—as Vaggie ground herself against Charlie’s trapped thigh. 

“Baby—” the princess barely had a chance to whine as she tumbled over the edge at last. Her head throan back by a keening moan as she clenched around Vaggie’s fingers. Curling into her walls, dragging out every ounce of pleasure, until she fell limp in her lover’s hold. 

The soft glow of the bioluminescent garden cast an ethereal light on Charlie’s flushed cheeks as she pulled away from Vaggie’s lips.

 She was panting, her chest heaving, and her her hands newly determined to get those damn pants off of the angel

.Vaggie’s wings were already puffy with arousal above her, blocking out the deep sky sparkling with stars, the feathers shimmering with a golden iridescence that seemed to mirror the light of the garden.

Charlie’s own demon tail swayed back and forth between her, growing in eagerness again. She could feel the slickness run down her thighs, the wetness that Vaggie had caused with just her fingers. 

She wanted more.

“Vaggie,” Charlie breathed, her voice husky with desire. “I want...I need...”

Vaggie’s hands were still inside Charlie’s lacy underwear, her fingers teasing and rubbing in all the right places. Charlie moaned, her hips bucking against Vaggie’s hand.

“What do you need, love?” the angel hummed against her ear, kissing her flushed pink skin. Making the princess squirm when she said that name. 

“I need, to touch you, too.” Charlie whined as kisses were making their way down the neckline of her dress.

 Vaggie was already asking, “Can I taste you, Charlie?” as her lips landed between the Princess’s breasts. 

Charlie’s heart skipped a beat at the question, and she could only nod her head in response. Vaggie’s eyes sparkled with desire as she lowered herself between Charlie’s splayed legs.

Her wings stretched out above them, casting their golden shadow over the princess as Charlie thrashed and whined beneath the angel. Feathers brushed her bare skin, their softness sending shivers down her spine. 

Her fingers grabbed desperately for Vaggie’s hair, as her tail wrapped around her waist to keep her close. 

Vaggie was good at distracting her. Clearing her mind of politics and court drama—but she was also good at keeping Charlie from reciprocating. Like the angel guard didn’t deserve to feel the princess’s hands on her. 

But, Vaggie wasn’t entirely out of Charlie’s reach. 

 Charlie’s tail twitched and writhed, worming dexterously around the angel’s waist—until it finally slid into those damn tight pants. 

The angel was soaked. Her undergarments drenched as Charlie’s tail found Vaggie’s folds. Sliding between them to collect her slick, before rubbing at the other’s swollen clit. 

Vaggie’s delighted cry vibrated against Charlie, making them both squirm. 

“Not…not fair.” the angel panted against Charlie’s core. 

“More than fair.” Charlie laughed, twitching the tip of her tail to tease her further. 

Vaggie gasped out a curse against Charlie, grinding her hips forward, before blindly delving back between her lover’s legs. 

 Charlie gripped Vaggie’s short hair, pulling her closer as she bucked her hips against her companion’s face.

The world around them seemed to fade away as they lost themselves in each other, their bodies moving in a perfect duet. 

Charlie could feel the pressure building inside her, the tension coiling like a spring. And then, with one final flick of Vaggie’s tongue, Charlie couldn’t hold back anymore.

Her body convulsed as she cried out, her magic bursting off of her in a flash of red light. Vaggie followed soon after, her golden magic mixing with Charlie’s as they came together.

The Princess lay panting and spent in the grass. Vaggie lay beside her, her wings wrapped around them like a protective cocoon once again.

“I love you,” Charlie whispered, her voice barely audible.

Vaggie stiffened in her arms, her soft wings gone ridged around them. 

“You don’t have to—”

“You mean the world to me Charlie, you know that.” Vaggie murmured, leaning up, pressing a kiss to her lips. That Charlie couldn’t help but think tasted just a little bit…like sorrow. Or regret.

Like she would never be able to have all of the angel, not all that she wanted. 

But the princess tried not to think about that. 

She closed her eyes, letting the sound of Vaggie’s heartbeat lull her for as long as the spell would hold. 

But as the night wore on, and the garden began to fade into darkness, Charlie knew that they would have to return to the castle. To the responsibilities and duties that awaited them. But for now, they had this moment. And that was enough. 

Charlie wanted it to be enough. 

Vaggie’s wings rustled as she sat up, the golden feathers shimmering as they faded back to white. 

Charlie groaned, her body still humming with pleasure as she buried her face and tried to stay a little while longer. 

“We should get back to the castle,” Vaggie said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Charlie’s tail twitched in protest, wrapping itself tighter around Vaggie’s waist. 

“Just five more minutes,” she pleaded, her voice muffled against Vaggie’s clothes.

Vaggie sighed, her fingers tracing gentle patterns on Charlie’s back. “Charlie, we can’t stay out here all night.”

Charlie sat up, her eyes meeting Vaggie’s. “Why not?” she asked, her voice filled with longing. “I want to stay here with you forever.”

Vaggie’s expression softened, her wings curling protectively around Charlie. “I want that too, Charlie. But we can’t..”

Charlie’s shoulders slumped, her tail drooping between her legs before it finally vanished. “I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Vaggie leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Charlie’s forehead. “But we’ll come back here again. I promise.”

Charlie’s eyes brightened, a small smile playing on her lips. “You promise?”

Vaggie nodded, her wings fluttering softly. “I promise. Now come on, let’s get back before someone comes looking for us.”

Charlie reluctantly got to her feet. 

As they walked back towards the castle, Charlie couldn’t help but feel a sense of sadness wash over her. She knew that they couldn’t stay in the garden forever, but it was hard to leave a place that felt so perfect.

Follow the Fic on Ao3

[stardancerluv]

The Past Follows Like a Shadow

Part Eight

Summary: Gator and reader visits the past.

Notes/Warnings: Implied bullying, mention of the tire iron moment referenced in the show, angst, implied post sexual activity.

❤️s feedback & reblogs are appreciated!

“I told you, I’d get you into bed.” A soft chuckle came from him.

You glanced back at him from where you rested your cheek on his chest.

“I didn’t doubt it.”

He chuckled, his arm was draped lazily around you, his fingertips grazed lazy patterns on your hip.

Silence laid over the two of you, as you heard him take a pull on his vape.

“My life took a turn after that night.” His voice barely above a whisper.

You pressed your lips together. “We don’t need to discuss it.”

You truly did not want to. A strong sense to flee over came you. His finger grasped your hip, stilling your urge to resist. They dug into you.

“No you need to listen. By the time I was strong enough to reach out, you had run clear out of town. I barely caught sight of the dust clouds in your wake.”

“After you became a winner. I couldn’t stay around any longer.”

Now it was him you felt still. His grip grew firmer, you bit the inside of your cheek, so you didn’t gasp discomfort caused.

“This is exactly why you have to listen.”

He paused taking a pull on his vape.

“Overnight, the chores on ranch increased and he chose a fitness routine with one of his military buddies. Except a few I had already stashed away, he removed the books from my room.”

A chill came over you.

“With the leverage he had, I got onto the teams at school. I sucked as an athlete.” A chuckle came from him.

You glanced back at him. He looked grim.

“So the fights began, I wasn’t horrible.”

He paused, to take a pull on his vape. You shifted and rested on your elbow. He pushed himself back so his back was against the headboard.

“One day a bunch feeling tougher as group, ganged up on me like the old days and broke my leg. I got benched and Roy was beyond pissed.”

Your insides were churning. He had always seemed so much happier better off without you.

“I had recovered from my broken leg, when the final straw happened. I fixing up my pick up truck. I knew best to not stick around and try and make friends. They hated me, they hated and feared Roy.”

He paused to pull once on his vape.

“This guy the size of a good wardrobe; drove to the edge of the ranch’s driveway.”

He glanced down at you, you couldn’t read his eyes.

“I will never forget how I heard the crunch of his shoes on on gravel before everything slowed down and the violence that would come, accelerated.”

He pressed his lips together.

“I had only passed him a glance from where I was under the hood of the pickup. I had a few hours of peace; Roy wasn’t going to be home till late and Karen was getting the twins fitted for their christenings. I’d let him shoot his insults my way and then he could turn around and drive away.”

“That’s not what happened.” You managed to whisper.

“Nope. He slammed his hand onto the hood, startling me and the insults began pouring from his damn mouth.”

He took another pull from his vape. The smell of it fought with the scent of him or even the aftermath of the two of you. You noticed, it was like calming agent for him.

“I hit my the back of my head on the hood. Chuckles soon replaced the insults. And when I reached for whatever was closest to me, your name came from his lips.”

Your brow furrowed.

“And I don’t know it woke me up a d reminded of us, what we had what we had become and I lost it.”

A tear escaped one of your eyes, it had already been almost a year at that point. You had packed your backpack and left shortly after the story reached you. But it had sounded completely different.

“Oh, don’t cry.”

Shifting, the bed creaked under the two of you as he reached over and brushed the tear aside.

Distantly, you knew that hand that just comforted you was the one he used to hold that tire iron. You nodded and looked at him from under your lashes.

A smirk curled his lips.

“After Karen’s father got rid of the tire iron,” He continued. “He and Roy made all the right phone calls and all who knew happened are all stilled zipped up about it. And they never bothered me again.”

He chuckled. “Even Roy laid off me for a bit.”

“Good.”

You don’t know who moved first whether it was yourself or him. But once against you were against his chest and he had an arm around him. You knew deep down, if Nadine had never disappeared that would have never happened. Heck, the two of you could actually have ended up together.

********

Sunlight danced on your eyelids making you stir. Realizing, you were against a pillow and not him made you press your face deeper into the pillow. Sure now you knew more but what did that truly get you.

The sudden buzzing of your phone on your nightstand made you flinch. Blindly, you reached for it.

Blinking, it read YOUR GATOR.

It made you giggle despite waking up to him gone making you sour.

“I see you added yourself to my phone.”

His chuckle filled your ear but then it was cut short. “I did.”

You heard him say something garbled.

“Listen, we had a tragedy at the department. That’s why I left. I’ll call you later.”

“Alright.” You barely answered and he cut the call.

@keerygal @delikaitxx